This Friday is my last day of work at my present employer. While I am still annoyed that my managers told me that they could not grant my request for unpaid time off to travel to Tampa for the Outback Bowl, I have decided that I can effectively assuage my feelings of resentment by doing absolutely nothing, and I don't mean "by doing absolutely nothing about the feelings" so much as "by doing absolutely nothing." As a matter of personal habit and pride, I am usually not so unscrupulous; to the contrary, my ethic typically commands an aura of the opposite of ill repute. This week, however, I am further pushed into the world of iniquity because my direct manager has already said her good-bye as of last Thursday. Today, the director of the department and the smarmy "I-used-to-be-part-of-the-team-but-now-I'm-a-manager" manager are leaving for the rest of the week. This leaves the department with only one manager, and she is the biggest pushover/confrontation phobic. I should emphasize "biggest" as well, for this quite corpulent woman has lost one hundred pounds on two separate occasions. Fortunately for the missing pounds, she found them. I fear that someday she might become so bulbous that voice recognition software will be her only hope.

Upon a brief review of what I just wrote, I am aghast at my own meanness. You should all know that I was once much less mean--I was the kid that the teachers would intentionally seat next to the pariahs because I would neither tease nor fight and could have been a positive role model. Perhaps I lost my sense of smell when I was relegated to playing the part of a friend to the persona non grata who was an outcast for lacking any resemblance of personal hygiene. But I digress.

As I was saying, my last day is Friday. I need to remember a box. That's pretty much the point of this message.