I am sitting in an empty office at work. My manager just left the building for the last time. Most of the other members of my department have been gone for days, along with nearly all of the 400 employees who have filled this huge space for the last four years.
On Tuesday night I took the last call to come into the Harrisburg call center. We thought all the queues were turned off, but as we stared at the still monitors, a straggler came through, which had to be answered. It had been six months since I spoke to a customer, but it felt good to do it one last time, even if was just for a minute before I transferred him to an outsource agent somewhere in Asia.
I told a friend this morning that it hadn’t sunk in yet. I had thought that it would on Wednesday, as most people departed for the last time; or maybe on Wednesday night at the bar where everyone celebrated both St Patrick’s Day and their liberation. When I didn’t feel it then, I thought it would happen this morning when I pulled into a vacant parking lot and made my way through an empty building — but it didn’t. I gave up, and told my friend that I didn’t think it would happen until I left for the last time, or maybe not even until a few days after that.
It happened just now, as my boss smiled and walked out the door. I’ll be back next week, to help facilities and IS with anything I can before we permanently vacate, but seeing the last of my department leave means that my job as I knew it is gone, in a far more real way than it was even half an hour ago.
I’m going to say goodbye to a few remaining people, log off this computer once and for all, then swallow the lump in my throat and go home. I’ll be back, for a few more days anyway, but the chapter is already closed.