Quitting is cool

Today we’re going to lunch as a group to say goodbye to our pal Dan, who is moving on to a new job. Skippy Whitebread has decided that the appropriate celebration will be mini-golf and lunch at some place called the “Icky Nickel”. I’m not so sure about that – eating at any place with the word “icky” in its name can’t be a good thing.

Dan is a lucky guy; he got a great new job in Oregon, so he’s implemented his escape clause and is getting the hell out of this company with his dignity intact, something very few people manage to do. Usually when people leave this place it’s because they’ve been pink slipped out the door. “Rightsized”, as the executive bastards used to call it. But Dan is leaving on his own accord, and hopefully on his last day will follow my suggestion and will drop a box of donuts off on his manager desk that have “Kiss My Ass” inscribed in icing on them.

Regardless, Danny’s last day is Friday, and I’ll be sad to see him go. He and I went to lunch quite often, and spent our hours bitching about the company, politics, and whatever else came to mind. He’s the only person I’ve met around here who is even further politically left than I am, so he’ll fit in just fine with the tree huggers in Eugene, OR.

Good luck, Dan. Hope your new world is better than this “icky” one.