Paul Anka just sang “Diana” for Jean Chretien. He just called JeanJean “our grand fromage.” Pot? Kettle?
Hey, you know that girl who works at the office, the one that has kind of funny hair, like funny weird, not funny cool? She always talks to everybody with that strange artificial confidence, like she’s trying to convince herself to be more confident when she talks to people? She’s hoping that will make people care what she’s talking about? But no one does?
But of course, it’s an office, so except for the one mean girl, everyone pretends they like the girl with the funny hair. But they go for lunch without her, accidentally. And they never listen after they ask how her weekend was. And they secretly think she’s annoying and they tell each other how annoying they think she is, when they’re with friends in the stock room looking for liquid paper ™ or when they’re out for lunch together.
At the Christmas party, she wore the weirdest skirt. It was taffeta with different coloured taffeta stripes on it. It was too big for her and she had to keep hiking it up while she danced and boy could she ever not dance. And were those shoes from 1988?
Then, after years, it finally happens. She quits, moves on, ‘has had enough of this hell-hole, ha ha ha!’ She gets a job at a different office, making slightly more money. Yay girl! You go, girl! ‘I’ll get your phone numbers and we’ll have lunch! ha ha ha!’
Everyone in the office surreptitiously notes the date, 14 days from now, when it will be her last day. Everyone makes plans to take that day off.
For 13 days, she walks around with her head in the clouds, humming, “only 10 more days!” and “only 8 more days!” and “guess how many more days?” and she takes it as a compliment when people guess right. She says, “gee I’m not going to miss this photocopier!” And everyone smiles, a little more broadly, because she’s leaving, after all and they can afford to be nice just that much longer.
On day 13, she brings in a cake. Everyone gets excited because maybe TODAY is her last day! But it isn’t; she just noticed on the schedule that everyone was taking the next day off and she really wanted everyone to get a piece of cake. Everyone comes to the staff room and she sings a little “happy quitting day to me!” song and everyone smiles obligingly. The cake is bad, Safeway cake, mostly sugar with sugar icing and “Goodbye Girl!” on it. She ordered it herself. She tries to make conversation with people and mostly they participate, but it is grim participation and they are close to their long weekend.
After most of the cake is gone, the girl skips to the kitchen to wash all the forks, something she said she would never do again, but she’s doing it, just because it’s her second to last day in this hell hole! Hooray!
Everyone goes home and gets really drunk and emails each other and says things like “a toast, to the girl, who is finally gone!” After a few years, those who are still left at the office come to reflect on the girl with some affection. “She wore fun vests,” they say, “and she had good spirit.” “Yes,” say others, “but she lost $400 from the petty cash. And then we all had to fill out POs. I hated her.”
Jean Chretien? It is time to leave now. No more parties, no more farewell speeches, no more ENTIRE FOCUS SECTIONS in the Globe and Mail, no more TV specials, no more tribute albums (I hope I’m joking) no more no more no more. You’re done. Go home before I come out there and kick your ass.