Happy Trails

I found out A.N. was leaving L.M. from A.N. about two days before she was leaving. She walked into my office and talked to me and V.M.

A.N.: Do you guys want to come to my lunch on Friday? It's my last day.
K.T.: Sure. Wait, what? You're leaving?

I have to give A.N. credit. Dropping it on our heads out of the blue doesn't give us time to process it. It just happens, and we're too busy dealing with work and everything else to fully understand. Congratulated her on her new position, which comes with a substantial salarial increase. We talked about how much she would miss L.M. (she wouldn't), and then she waved her hand across my desk.

A.N.: Look at you, food everywhere. You eat all the time.
K.T.: Me? I've heard you eat all the time too.

I've not known A.N. long enough to get to know her in any real fashion. She mocks me for eating all the time (which I do at work. Sequential steps don't hold my interest well, and I need another stimulus to keep myself from dreaming.). She is all about the sharp tongue, but in a good-natured fashion.

I found out that she thinks I speak much too fast and use my hands too much while talking (which I do at work. The speaking, there are just too many thoughts rattling in my noggin, and I can't push them out fast enough. As for the hands, I think it's the teacher in me clawing desperately from within, seeking release. If I taught, one of my big things aside from psychotic in-class lapses would be flailing my hands to make a point).

There's not much to be sad about, because A.N. is moving up, moving on, moving. And this is the natural passage of life, to move. Standing still becomes tantamount to stagnation, lack of growth, absence of life. We must move in some way, whether it be physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. And we can't always take people with us. Hell, we're lucky if we find a way to keep the connections alive and open if we really move (not just across the county, but across larger divides, and damn it, I'm working on it.).

I'll never see A.N. again, and that's OK. There are so many people that have traipsed into my life, and traipsed out just as gracefully. Wading hip-deep in a pool, so many ripples crashing against your belly, and dissipating quickly. I would love to get to know them better, understand that I will never get that opportunity for most of them. We are legion, yet we are alone. Lives intersecting ever so brief, perhaps as little as a flash of light, then separating, moving on.

(Really, I had intended this as a lead-in to one of the funniest slapstick moments in my life in recent memory, but I've been thinking about the implications of switching jobs, both as they have affected me, and potentially as they may in the future.)

When we went to the lunch, I sat down next to C.C. I had my head turned to talk to Y.A. and J.F., when I heard a loud sneeze behind me, and suddenly felt a gooey spackle upon head, near where my neck hair meets my neck, right side. I turn to my right, and C.C. has a napkin to his nose. He sneezed so hard, and held the napkin just right, that he actually forced most of the force and goo behind him, into my head. On instinct, pure and primal, I reached back with my hand and felt warm goo.

K.T.: C.C., did you just sneeze on me?
C.C.: No, I sneezed into this napkin.
K.T.: Then why do I feel it on the back of my head?
C.C.: I really sneezed into the napkin.
K.T.: Somehow, it got onto my head.
C.C.: I guess I didn't hold the napkin right. I didn't mean to.

To be fair, he really did look like he had just sneezed into his napkin, and if he had sneezed on me, it would have coated me in a thin film of saliva and mucus. The rest of lunch had me shivering and reaching back with a napkin of my own, wiping away at C.C.'s gift.

Of course, later in the day, I went to the bathroom, and C.C. was using the "big boy" urinal. I had to resort to the "kids" urinal. (For those of you that have never been in a men's bathroom, one urinal is inevitably situated lower on the wall than all the others, so little kids can use it. This also has the added effect of creating more splashback. Occasionally, I do prefer the "kids" urinal when I want to feel eight feet tall.) He stands to my right. Staring straight forward, all I say is "Please don't sneeze on me here."