The Last Spill and Testament

I have had a coworker for my entire time with the company I am in. For this story, we will call him Bob (names changed).

Bob and I are both in the IT department of a large business in Honolulu. For Bob, this is especially impressive because he first joined up with the company when he was seventeen, worked his way up from an intern to creating and utilizing computer punch cards (yeah, punch cards). 

Over the years, he has maintained a strong understanding of computer technology, remaining in IT as it evolved over his forty-eight-year tenure. Bob loved the company and his position; he always said it had just the right amount of responsibility. Enough to be important, but not enough that he’d be responsible if something collapsed internally.

When people spoke about retiring, he would always deflect them and grumble.

Bob: “I’ll know when it’s my time.”

Bob: “I’ll know when it’s time to go.”

Bob: “I’ll make the right choice when it is time.”

In the seven years that I’ve been working with Bob, he has done the same thing every morning.

He goes to the break room for coffee, then down to the cafeteria for a breakfast plate, returns to his desk, removes the plate, and then turns the bag upside down and dumps out multiple packets of salt and pepper. ketchup and soy sauce, along with napkins and a fork or two. 

A couple of days ago, the following happened:

Bob: “Morning!”

Me: “Morning, Bob, how are you doing?”

Bob: “Good, I’m still not exactly sure what that holiday is about, that June thing, you said you were going to explain it to me, but then we had that issue with the network on four.”

Me: “Ahh, yes.” *I sipped my own coffee as Bob placed his down.*

Bob: “Go on then.”

Me: “Juneteenth is—”

Bob proceeded to turn his bag upside down, the breakfast plate within it slammed into the desktop with authority, an explosion of eggs, rice, spam, and link sausages. The impact also upset his cup of coffee, which tipped over violently.

There were a few seconds of silence before the now coffee-logged Dell OptiPlex on his desk turned off.

Me: “Oh… dear.”

Bob: “I see… hold my calls, please.”

Me: “How do I do—”

Bob walked away.

Me: “—that?

Bob disappeared into the boss’s office and, about ten minutes later, both he and the boss walked out and over to his desk.

Boss: “I see.”

Bob: “That’s what I said.”

Boss: *Turning to Bob and holding out a hand.* “Bob, I respect and accept your immediate retirement. Working with you has been my privilege. Your departure is going to be a loss felt within multiple departments. You were not only a mentor to me when I started here, but to many more who have come and gone.”

Bob shook his hand firmly.

Bob: “Once I clean this up, I’ll—”

Boss: “—Nonsense, Bob. Please… enjoy your retirement. Feel free to visit anytime.”

Bob and the boss went back and forth for another forty-five seconds or so about the mess before Bob relented and started making rounds to say goodbye to everyone. 

Once he left the room to venture to other departments, my boss smiled at me and started slowly cleaning the mess that Bob had left behind. Two other employees and I immediately got up and assisted him. By the time Bob came back with a box for all of his things, the mess was cleaned up, and the PC had been removed.

Bob never really mentioned his workload; he just did it, quietly, meticulously, and efficiently. The work he was doing ended up being split among four other people. 

He sent me an email. He’s already hard at work building an extension for his house so his wife can have a painting room.

You go, Bob.