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I may never give you this letter

2004-09-30 - 11:08 p.m.

You're leaving tomorrow with your husband for a week to Hawaii , and I just realized too late, that it is a common theme for some to act out and start arguments with the people they love when they are going somewhere. In the workplace, anyway. As much as I hate to admit it, we gave you a run for your money today.

It's similar to what children do sometimes when their parent is sick or preoccupied. And the mayhem starts. That's what we did. One, because it's that kind of company. We know each other a little too well. Secondly, because we can. There is a no holds barred policy that is unwritten somewhere in the company handbook, that you can blurt out anything that comes to mind without thinking about it first, in exchange for an uneven work to pay ratio. Well then!

When I said

"So I hope you're confident that we'll hold it down ok while you're gone. Are you?"

You didn't sound as confident as we thought you would. You addressed our excessive chatter regarding anything, as ridiculous, all the time.

"When I don't hear you two, I'm afraid something's terribly wrong in there."

You showed low hopes that we would resolve our tempers should someone mindlessly wrong us next week. Glossed over the notion that coworker Bill was afraid to walk through the dept. because he felt unsafe. (the Georgie threatening to cut him vibe) Your concern that Georgie would "get crazy". All in all, we felt you were pretty hard on good old us, and we didn't give you a minute of peace.

We knew you had to pack, make lists, quell the confusion in your about to be abandoned three year old, and figure out how to get some roll a joint time, meanwhile being mostly legal and efficient. We forgot, for the day, that you have to be on guard in case Ron has back to back pancreatic attacks and has to throw up for twelve hours straight in the shower. No red meat. No sugar. No joke.

I would only like to assert, on behalf of the remainder of the department, as Angie is out (for the third year in a row) on a fictitious adopt a kid leave, two things. One, we are sorry that you have to live inside yourself today and especially tomorrow on the plane, thinking about what damage we might bring to a boil while you're away. Also, should the walls of this place suddenly fall away, say, in another sudden earthquake like we had the other day, but didn't feel - it's likely that we would all notice that none of this would matter, because it would force the lot of us to look around at each other, dazed and bewildered, and wonder why we didn't spend more time outside on our breaks.

What do you mean when you say, You guys, call me any time, any day that I'm on vacation, before anything happens?

We also want you to know that by the time you come back, we will have cleaned up any speck of juvenile behavior, and we will keep things in our desks and to ourselves like

the weekly (rotating) top ten most fucked up salesmen list

theories about who we're firing next

Georgie's murder plots

Dead on imitations of those in the company that wouldn't (couldn't) defend themselves against the imitations.

For all these reasons, and increasing daily others,

We're incredibly sorry.

OHELL AND GEORGIANNA

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