I’m supposed to meet my Dysfunction, Inc., friends for drinks. One of them is enjoying her last day today.
Or was. Vindictive bosses decided to dump a load of work on her at the last minute. The happy hour, supposed to start at 5:00, has yet to start. I’m in a bar nearby, sipping on a beer, waiting on them.
BUT: It’s your last day! Nothing in the world says you have to stick around to satisfy their need to torture! They can’t withhold her paycheck without getting into serous trouble with the state. I’d’ve told them to bite me.
Perhaps it’s better they flat out ignored me in my last days there.
They probably figured I was too savvy to fuck with.