My cubicle is pretty much empty, I have tied up all the possible loose ends, and I have absolutely nothing to do. Do not ask me why I didn't just take a vacation day (since they don't pay for unused vacation days when I leave and I have like, 50+ hours of vacation time accrued that is basically being flushed down the toilet). I think I might be a special kind of masochist.
There are some things I will miss. For example, the family atmosphere. Even if it is one of those families where they constantly take advantage of you because "its family" and no one really ever takes you seriously because no one will ever forget that time when you were five and you bobbed for apples in the toilet.
I will miss the free soda. On the other hand, it's probably not healthy to drink 5 Diet Dr. Peppers in a day, especially when you have an anxiety disorder and tend to react to caffeine like a crack addled squirrel on a meth binge.
I will miss Super Dave, the office superhero, who saves the day through amazing feats like answering the phone. And signing for FedEx packages. I really should have gotten him a cape as a parting gift.
I will miss Mountain Man who always talks about how much pot he smoked over the weekend and the Widespread Panic shows he has seen. He was always good for a decent bitch session considering he's the only other person in the office who did not vote for George W. Bush even once (let alone twice) and who doesn't think voting for O'Bama made me an America hating commie who eats babies.
I won't miss having to answer the phone. I definitely won't miss conversations like this one:
Good Ol' Boy: Hey, honey, listen. I need you to change the language in this assessment so we don't look like we polluted the site, even though we did.
Me: No, I cannot just say that everything was fine and I didn't see any problems. There's a 2 mile oil stain on your property.
Good Ol' Boy: Well, darlin', can't you just mention that but not make a big deal out of it?
I won't miss the attitude that I must automatically be better at making copies because I have female reproductive organs.
I won't miss having my concentration broken in the middle of a big project because some of the bosses don't understand how to print their own e-mails. Or how to put a piece of paper in a file that is sitting right in front of them. Or how to add extra lines to their spreadsheets.
I'm ready to start my new job as an Air Inspector. There is something refreshingly bizarre about that title. I will be the best inspector they ever had. I will be like Inspector Gadget without the wheelie feet. I do have freakishly long arms that might serve as the go-go-gadget-arms. Do-do-do-doo-do Inspector Gadget duh duh duh duh du-duh du-duh. Whatever. I'm not...music-y.