The people you came in with

Today was the last day at work for one of my co-workers, a guy named Todd, who secretly fed me most of my information about the Cavs so I could go home and look smart in front of Ben (it was Todd who tipped me off to the fact that Daniel Gibson was nicknamed Booby long before everyone else started calling him that). In the old building, I sat diagonally from Todd; in the new building, I sat right across from him. We were never really friends, but I really liked Todd-- he was funny, and a good worker, and a very smart guy. And now he's gone, and I'll probably never see him again.

In fact, a lot of people have left my office lately, mostly because of the drive, as my new office is about seven hundred miles from everywhere, and you must drive around something called Dead Man's Curve to get there. In fact, of the original group I worked with at the old office, only two people remain, other than my boss and the other supervisor. We've got new people, and they're awesome, but there's something to be said for the people you came in with.

I've always had a lot of friends-- not to sound pompous, but I am insanely likeable. But co-workers are a different breed of friends. They're like stealth friends-- you don't even realize how much you like them until they leave.

And if you think about it, you probably spend more time with your co-workers during any given week than you do with any of your other, outside-world friends-- even, probably, more than you spend with your significant other or family. So the sudden void left by Todd's absense is troubling.

The sudden fact that there is now only one dude in my entire department is also troubling, because now we could all begin crying at a moment's notice, with no dudes there to hold us back. On the plus side, I don't have to hide the secret departmental tampon supply anymore, but that is but small consolation.

Farewell, Todd-- you will be missed.