Only 3 of us left.

Pat, Beav and the Chix Butt.

I looked at Pat at 5pm, and said, “Hey Oscar, on a scale of 1 to 10, how was your day?”

She didn’t respond.

In my best chicken butt voice, I said, “Yeah, I know, it was a hectic day.  Can we agree that it was a 5?”

No response.

It just isn’t the same, working in a ghost town.

A few months ago, there were 6 cube mates.

A few weeks ago, we dwindled to 5.

The 4th one left today.

Now there are 3.

Nobody walks through anymore.

Jeez, even Bob retired yesterday, in his German drinking outfit.

When we think nothing will change, how is it that everything changes?

Or does it?

The Beaver is still in charge, sitting on her perch, in the command post.

Oscar throws her self on the sword, daily, for the good of the team.

And the Chx Butt?

She’ll tease you, she’ll unease you
All the better just to please you
She’s precocious, and she knows just
What it takes to make a pro blush
She got Greta Garbo’s standoff sighs, she’s got Bette Davis eyes

But please remember, she is delusional, and quite the bar fly.

Bette Davis ?

She is no Bette Davis.

But don’t bother to remind her that she is on her way out.

She will tell you that her job drives her to drink, and that is why she loves it.

Can the 3 of us just have a group hug?

To celebrate good times, past times and old times?

While we are still here?

Toasting to the success of those that have been here, but have moved on?

And to our future, the 3 of us.

Cheers, Oscar, Beav and Chx Butt.

The 3 amigos.

My special thanks to you for making my work life a joy!

Grassy ass!







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