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Sunday Night Outing (Not the Fun Kind, the Other One)

After nearly 40 years of paranoia about such a thing, it would seem that I’ve been outed. It happened Sunday night, just as I was going to bed. I received a text from one of my employees asking, “Are you OK?”. I had no idea what it meant, so I went ahead and asked. The last time I got such a cryptic message I came to find out that 4 colleagues and friends had been killed in a plane crash I had been blissfully unaware of, so naturally my mind went there. He got back to me quickly. “Got a weird text from C.W (a former employee) asking if ‘it was true about Mike’” Crap. There was only one thing it could possibly be.

Just to give you a little back story, I’ll happily disclose that I’ve been working with HR for months now on my at work transition plan. They have been great, but frankly I’m getting sick of it and just want it done already. Part of the process was for the director of HR to interface with our security department to determine what, if any, effects could be expected. They are really, really detailed like that. It took me two seconds to establish the vector. Hmm… C.W. is living with L.O., who got let go back in Jan, but is still close friends with the guys in, you guessed it, security. Ladies, I think we found our leak.

I went to bed Sunday with every expectation that my “big secret” was racing through the workforce faster than a child’s sneeze into the salad bar. I got to sleep relatively easy and slept surprisingly sound. There is nothing so empowering as knowing you are about to be revealed and simply not caring all that much. The next morning I made my lunch and went into work with a spring in my step. I had no idea what to expect, except that there would probably be a lot of questions and odd looks. I mentally set aside the day to have talks and whatnot and see where things landed from there.

Approaching my desk I could see all 4 guys huddled around the cube next to mine. “All right Michelle, I guess it’s go time.” It was not. Fascination was focused on a slightly ribald email sent in from a customer. All they had to say was that they were glad to see me alive. Seriously, WTF? I pressed a bit. “So, what was all that about anyway?” They had no clue. C.W. sent the text and then went silent. Their take was that he was just being silly. My take is that he didn’t want to be the one to break the news. OK. Sooooo…. now what?

I met with the HR director and filled him in. He wasn’t terribly pleased about a leak in his tightly controlled vault, which other experiences tell me is about as porous as a fishing net, or in some cases, air. So we talked it out. What to do, what to do. In the end he was happy to keep things on schedule for the most part, with the “big reveal” now moved up to the week of July 9th.  Yay! Even a week shaved off this onerous waiting process is better than nothing. I’ll take off an extra 7 links on my sweet construction paper chain right now; a countdown to the day when ‘male mode’ finds its way into the Goodwill bags.

That’s the long pole date anyway. In reality, the information is out there. I’m dead sure of it. I would be shocked if it hadn’t found a way into the building yet, creeping silently toward my group. It’s like being blindfolded, being told you are going to be plonked in the nose “soon”, then hearing the room door close. Did they leave? Was it a ruse? Is it coming now, or when the door opens again. For the love of god, will you just fricking plonk me already? We all know there is nothing a girl loves more than a good surprise plonking. Ugh! No, I didn’t mean it that way! Get sarcasm much?

The wonderful part about it all is that none of it is causing me any distress. Come what may, and I have no inclination to click my heels together and wish to be elsewhere, especially god forbid Kansas. What this tells me is that I’m more than ready. I’m over this charade; let’s have it done. Plonk.

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