Last Day

D and I pushed hard for one last day and finished the back hallway. It looks spectacular. Also got the AC unit installed in the elevator 'penthouse' which was a little more difficult than we had foreseen as we had to break a window then clean up the mess before we could proceed. Barb, at the pub, insisted on giving us free lunch, and spotted us a free drink. D had been gathering his stuff together all week, and hauled the final car-load away today. They love him already at OU, bought 16 new Macs for his computer lab, a new laptop for his office, new enlargers for the dark-room, and put the maintenance staff at his disposal. I don't suppose he'll be mopping anymore. It's too bad, when we lose one of our own, but I'm happy for him. Melancholy drive home, knowing how changed the work place is going to be. Pegi and Trish seem oblivious to it. They finally asked him, at 3:30 in the afternoon, how he did the mass market emails; and he, bless his heart, told them he didn't have time to explain, and steered them to the tutorial. I think they need their heads examined. D was the major asset at the museum, and now he's gone. The IT guy, a curator, the facilities manager, the graphic design department, gone, in the blink of an eye. And they're going to replace him with whom? A couple of college students they can pay minimum wage? Is that the fucking plan? So simplistic it's laughable. Nobody cares about the art. Last thing, last day, D unloads pages of data and folders on me. I don't even look at it. Five in the afternoon on a Friday at the end of a week when I have busted my ass and been on my feet non-stop. I stopped for some potato logs at the convenience store that used to be called Bodie's. A potato log is a quarter of an Idaho spud, breaded and deep-fried. These are not good for you, but I only eat them once a month or so. I keep a bottle of hot sauce, in the door pocket of the Jeep, a hand crafted hot sauce that will get your attention, a few small paper plates, and a couple of napkins I take home from the pub. Good napkins are hard to find. Before I leave the parking lot of the Quick Stop I mix several pouches of ketchup with hot sauce on the corner of a plate and open the box of logs on a double fold of newspaper to contain the grease. This can't be any worse than talking on the phone or texting while driving. I drive slowly, back roads, there is no traffic. Stopped at the lake, to finish my make-shift meal and throw my trash in the dumpster. Actually recognize a couple of geese from last year. They return. They like it here. The living is easy. Frost warning after it being ninety degrees on Monday; on alternate days I start a fire or run the AC for Black Dell. Pretty sure I turned off the coffee pot at work. Vinegar works well to clean the pot when someone else forgets to turn it off. Life without D at the museum is going to be a very different thing. We can glide, I think, for about a year, then the shit hits the fan. Someone has to curate shows. If I were on the board, I'd be concerned. No ripples though, yet, I think they think everything is fine, though clearly that's not the case.