Final Hours of a Friday

I am flagging…oh good gracious. I feel like the walking dead and am absolutely shattered. I could probably play an extra in the follow-up to 'Shaun of the Dead' (wouldn't you just love a sequel to that?!) without any special effects make-up necessary. Mashed! On the plus side, less than an hour of the work day to go. Oh, and I got a smile from BlankFace today, even though she still didn't say anything to me as she handed back the forms she had signed. She'd replied to my note instead…not sure why she couldn't relay verbally to me the seven words (excessive, gosh!) she'd written on the note, but hey. I still think she's cold as ice. I wonder if she noticed that I was flouting the no-jeans policy by wearing an unobtrusive black pair? Muhahahaha. I'm a rebel, me.

Miss T and I have a running joke about wishing for a fire in our office, especially when she has shed-loads of filing to do. The rule is to never do a huge batch of filing on a Friday (or Thursday, since Miss T doesn't work Fridays), in case there's a fire over the weekend and then it all would have been in vain. We nearly got our wish once, when I worked late one evening last winter and dropped my pen on the floor under my desk. When I crawled under the desk to retrieve it, I found that Mr. G had mistakenly left his fan heater on, one of those ones that has warnings of 'Do Not Cover' on it. It was blowing directly on the plastic base of his office chair, with boxes of printer paper and paper recycling nearby. Luckily (?), I switched it off. Miss T has never forgiven me.

Earlier today, we got an email from staff training and development, advertising the upcoming 'Fire Prevention and Fire Safety at Work' workshop. Thinking it would give her a giggle when she got back to work, I emailed Miss T.

Where's the course on fire-starting and flammable materials at work?!

A get a reply not long after (even though she's at home on leave and should be ashamed she is checking her work emails)!

I don't want prevention on my evil plan.

Just now, there was the usual gathering around a person's desk to mark their leaving and embarrass them with gifts and speeches. The girl who is leaving is really lovely, friendly, well-travelled and interesting. We have had many a chat in the kitchen while making tea. Her team leader stands up, holding a Post-It note in one hand, and starts to give a speech in his deadpan way.

"You are going. We are sad. We have a card." He drops it on her desk.

"We have a collection." He drops an envelope on her desk, which lands with a dull clunk from the coins inside. Everyone is laughing.

"We also have some tat, that one of the girls was going to give you." He is told the 'tat' is going to be given to her at the pub later.

"Thank you for your help. Thank you for putting up with me. Especially my jokes. Do you want to say anything?"

Everyone is still chuckling and the girl who is leaving, obviously quite used to his sense of humour, completely ignores the seemingly uncaring goodbye and tells everyone it has been a joy and a pleasure to work here and that the celebrations and goodbyes will continue in the pub downstairs. It is the shortest and most casual leaving presentation I have witnessed and there have been numerous ones since I started here. With no more fanfare, we all return to our desks and count down the final half hour till home time. Colleagues flock around the leaving girl, so instead of fighting my way through to have a chat, I send her a quick email instead. Earlier in the week, I had promised one of my work friends who works closely with the girl who is leaving, that I would stop for a quick one at the leaving drinks, but it's not going to be possible after all. So I send her the email with my apologies and well wishes for her future plans, copying in the colleague that I had spoken to. They are disappointed that I can't make it, as am I. My friend says that she is already feeling emotional and half jokes that she is worried that she will end up drunkenly crying in a corner by the end of the night. I say that I also shed a tear after hearing their boss' evocative and moving goodbye speech. :o)

The end of the day and the week has finally come and I can't wait to get out of there. I barely have enough energy to get home, but sheer desperation to do so, along with increasing hunger, are very good motivators. I pick up the final copy of theLondonPaper outside the tube station and ask the distributor if he has found alternative employment to move on to, which thankfully he has. As I read the paper on the tram later, I am genuinely sad that it is closing. I'm not sure if I'm just tired and emotional, but I can't wait to get home. When I arrive, Dad makes me a cracking cup of tea and we - Mum, Dad, Big Sis and I - have a delicious dinner and dessert together. We watch an interesting program on depression on a Christian TV channel online and talk and sing the evening away before getting ready for bed. Roll on, weekend.