The joint I work at books functions.
Yesterday there was a retirement party - 200 guests. This guy must have been popular.
Knowing that there were probably 202 people in the building at the same time I was there, celebrating a retirement - had me gritting my teeth, until one tooth fell out of my mouth. I switched to punching the wall, until I put a hole in it, which I covered with a framed photo of Richard Milhous Nixon.
It was truly a happy bunch of people. The building entrance is right by the prison cell where I work, so every single person had to file by me. They were all talking and laughing. Quite animated.
I felt good for the guy. He was obviously popular, and everybody seemed genuinely happy for him.
Because I work in a place that presents musical events, there are speakers in the bathrooms, so that when patrons visit the lavatory to relieve themselves or snort cocaine, they don't miss too much music.
I had managed to drive the retirement reality deep down into my gut where it could hide under all my other anxieties, phobias and misconceptions - until I had to go to the bathroom.
As I stood there pondering the wonderment of my life, the party was being broadcast into the bathroom. Just so happens that I caught the tail end of the retiree's brother introducing him - he was quite choked up. Then The Man himself stepped up to the mike. I caught the beginning of his talk, and again, it was quite emotional.
I had conflicting emotions as I returned to my cell to deal with the cretins we call patrons.
I was genuinely happy for this guy. There was a lot of love being sent his way, and so much joy about the event. People were sincerely happy for this guy. His brother shed some tears; obviously he loves his brother.
I could not return to my menial job without fear and loathing.
When will my retirement party take place?
Feels like a pipe dream.
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