Creating a hermetic, self-negating leviathan of adolescent intertextuality may be more fun than reading one

I work at a place that has gradual obsolescence built into its very fabric: every two years, out with the old, in with the new. Unexpected departures are not part of the game plan, which generally gives unsubstantiated rumors an aura of plausibility simply because our game plans are poor models on which to base expectations.

Though they are rare, departures have some continuity. They usually happen on Fridays, and are usually leaked to someone in the office, which original leak births tiny seepages to certain individuals. Luckily, cantankerous career planning and maneuvering does not take place amongst the people in the know. False smiles, yes; backstabbing, yes, historically but not since I’ve been here.

I never was in a fraternity but my workplace sometimes reminds me of how I imagine they work in terms of relating stories about departed graduates to incoming pledges. Lots of nicknames listed, descriptions of crazy hard-to-believe things given, and a thin skin of residual influence over those who remained.

Anyway. The tension is building. Hushed whispers and conspiratorial glances are being exchanged. I don’t want to have to witness the reconstructive surgery that will be required if what I hear is going to happen actually happens, but I don’t want to up and leave either.

The deed has been done; the meeting has been had; and now I have a long drive to think about what the hell I’m doing. Bon voyage.