the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

I specifically asked to have no ceremony. I did this several times.

Dept head: Why?

ME: I hate all that pomp and circumstance."

She sighed deeply, rolled her eyes, and said, "We all do." 

ME: See?! I knew it!

HER: Can we just do a...you know...dinner or something? 

ME: A dinner would be fine. 

So I selected the DFENG* hangout: Southern Hospitality** Bourbon Bar. It seemed the natural place, and we know the bartender well, so we knew he'd make sure we had our own space and enough quiet to have our own shindig and be happy. 

* Department of Faculty, English and Fine Arts

** Used to be Bourbon Brothers, and we still call it that. Or, if we bow to their insufferable name change--even though they don't serve cornbread anymore...wtf?!--we call it "SoHo." Sounds Bohemian enough for us. 

So the dinner happened. It was...wow. Have you ever noticed how you never knew how awesome people thought you were until you retired? Then it all comes out. It's not unlike a funeral in that sense. I was told, by members of the department I've long admired, how highly they thought of me. And I'm not talking about people standing up in front of people and being forced to find nice things to say, either. I'm talking about people who, in the course of the evening, pulled me aside to tell me how much my passion and enthusiasm and uniqueness inspired and impressed them. There were so many that I lost count. The bar, for a couple of hours, was standing room only (and it was reserved for our party). 

Now, I was one of those kids who never even considered having a party, because I was...weird. I wore dresses all the time (my parents' idea) and made great grades (which is always a good way to be labeled a nerd). I didn't wear makeup because it always has made me feel like I was wearing a mask. I never wanted to curl my hair or do anything fashionable. I didn't care about those things, which just contributed to my "uniqueness." At the same time, I feared rejection, so I didn't set myself up for it.

Switch to Thursday evening, when people started coming in and hugging me and finding their seats. They just kept coming. I was genuinely amazed and humbled. But the humbling had not yet begun. There were myriad compliments on my speech (which Michelle recorded*), even from long-time public speaking professors, and various heartfelt comments about my contributions to the department, particularly the morale. Tom McGuire (retired colonel and now a civilian instructor there, but also twice my boss) cried on my shoulder after telling me a few things, including how rewarding it has been for him to watch me blossom. (And no...he wasn't drunk. He just isn't ashamed to cry when he feels passionately about anything. It's quite remarkable and moving.) 

* It's about 20 minutes, but I think it's surprisingly good (from a woman who just saw herself speaking in public for the first time today). I hope you can take the time to watch it. When I entered the Air Force and even in '06 when I began teaching, I had trouble articulating my ideas. I have always had the ability to do so in writing, but to stand in front of someone and express my ideas? No. Then I had to do it four times a day, 40 class days a semester, in front of about 18 adult students. Now, I am comfortable and articulate in front of a crowd, saying what I need to say. Quite a change. 

Then a party happened. 

We went home late, with me in a state of shock. I was relieved that I'd said precisely what I meant to in my speech and managed to keep people's attention the whole time, then shocked and humbled at the things my friends and colleagues had said to me. My head was spinning (well...part of that was the Blue Moon, no doubt, which Lucas--our bartender--ensured I had a steady supply of all evening). 

I want to take a moment to thank my friends--not colleagues--who came out to see me off. Everyone I invited came (except Margaret, who had to work, but who I know would have been there otherwise): Damon, my brother-from-another-mother, colleague and best friend from our Izmir assignment; Bob and Kelli Berkeley, our friends across town who we met at a political rally and discovered we'd been best friends all along but just hadn't met yet; Lin and Mike Zeller, my alterego in the department and fellow retiree who thankfully have settled here in town, as well; Erin Boone and her friend Corey, who I don't know yet but have no doubt from first impressions that I will love and enjoy him as much as I enjoy Erin, who is also an ex-colleague from the department; and Cheryl, who teaches at UCCS now but for a long time taught there and at the Academy with us and who now spends most of her year in Ethiopia with her husband Carl where he works with the government developing sustainable agriculture techniques. I love you all, and was profoundly happy and humbled that you all took the time from your busy lives to attend my little non-ceremony. 

Cut to the next morning. I had to appear at the Personnel Flight and do my "final out." For this, I was required to bring certain documents, most of which I'd presented when I set up the appointment and had already had checked off my "deliverables" list. I had only to deliver the three remaining documents, I thought, which I did immediately. It should have been a five minute appointment. 

Turns out, I had a senior airman who was a bit new. She said, "OK. We have these documents. Let's just check your outprocessing checklist to make sure everything is checked off." She proceeded to log into the vMPF (virtual Military Personnel Flight--everything they can possibly automate, they do, which is usually a good thing...), and pull up my outprocessing checklist, which still had a whole bunch of red X's on it. 

She told me she couldn't sign me out until I'd completed it. I told her I'd completed it, but people just hadn't signed stuff off. She paused a moment, then called the dentist. As she waited for someone to pick up the line, I said, "I have a signed memo from the dentist, though, saying I outprocessed. As a matter of fact, you have that memo." She continued, more or less ignoring me. So I pulled out my phone and made some chess and Words With Friends moves. The dentist asked to speak with me, then told me they needed a copy of my orders before they could sign me out. I said I'd have the senior airman send a copy over immediately; the next time she refreshed the list, it was signed off. 

At this point, she stalled. She looked at all the red X's and said, "We really need all this signed off. We take signatures, too. We can reschedule you to outprocess later today...."

I blinked at her. I did not get up from the chair. I said, "I have outprocessed every place on base that I can. I cannot make them sign me off. Everything is done." 

She pulled over a staff sergeant to deal with me at that point. I wasn't being rude, by any means, but there was no way in hell that I was going to spend the next few hours hunting down agencies who had left explicit instructions to not be called for outprocessing if they didn't have anything to do with me. This was not my problem. 

Turns out, the staff sergeant was willing to accept paperwork from the various agencies and note which agencies had left instructions to not be contacted, and just check them off for me. The whole thing took 40 minutes--35 minutes longer than it should have. Ugh. 

But...it is finished. Complete. Done. Fin. 

I am retired. 

It'll sink in within the next two weeks, probably. 

d