i think i just got someone fired, or was that just another weird dream?

we were sitting around talking about the pond E's B is dreaming of building. E's B says by 7/15 he'll be done with it and gainfully employed, i say no way. so i told b² we put a PS2 on it (like i'm going to tell him what we really put on it) and we're chatting round the table and finally, at fifteen past, the Commander invites us into her office and asks what i've got to say.

so i sell out the big G, with nothing but the truth for ammo, and perhaps i should feel bad because [insert any reason here, any reason at all] but even if the meaningless truth cost her her precious job, her big mouth and skewed sense of ambition (what kind of ladder is it we're climbing?) cost me and mine plenty. never our jobs, quite, but then, we never stole anything.

is it horrible to say, "luckily she did"?

in a lot of ways, we're quite alike. the things that are important to us, we'll fight to the death for. funnily enough, civility was on that list till the very last day. we were equal parts real and faked camraderie -- faking it was only worth it because you can openly hate office mates, but you can't openly hate people who love the same children you do.

i know lowly humans don't get to decide karma, but i can't help thinking that whatever discomfort she faces as a result of the meeting, is so totally deserved.

and then i can't help thinking: was i wrong? not wrong in the factual sense, because in the factual sense, as a matter of fact, i have all my facts straight. but was i wrong to answer the summons? should i have said i no longer cared? should i have said, "hey, you're not perfect either. you commit retail fraud every weekend and use our cabinets for personal storage"? or "come to think of it, i think i misappropriated half a glitter shaker myself"?

well.

time to go -- kiddiepark postmortem with The Nice Ones. i'm sure that will add more perspective to my wrongness (or rightness.) bbl.

6/18

so had PM dinner with The Nice Ones. it was interesting, first of all because i went without contacts or glasses for the whole dinner due to a headache that sprouted early in the afternoon, and also because you learn fascinating things about people you work with when you spend time with them for purely social purposes.

picturing Nice Guy a) stoned b) angry with max c) at tracks, or any combination of the above is kind of, actually, funny.

so we're never going back. isn't that a song? never going back. never gonna come back down. never, ever, ever. i guess i should separate the Nice Ones from us at this point because while they undoubtedly found kiddiepark an altogether stupid experience, one year of working with the big G and being ignored by b² is nothing like three or four years in a sweaty downward spiral with no conceivable end to the descent.

so that's that. i thought i would have my own profound mental postmortem but it hardly seems worth it now that the big G shot herself in the size-eleven foot and we're all rather quietly going our separate ways. except The Nice Ones are more sociable than we had assumed, and we are more sociable than they had assumed. i think, something like that. so maybe, hopefully, we'll see them again.