I smiled when I saw the message on my phone: 673 prefix. That meant the government, probably. It’s also the prefix for the U of M, but they wouldn’t call me at seven unless I was supposed to give a speech and hadn’t shown up. No, it was the impound lot. They’d found her.

Was it drivable? They said yes. Any damage? “It says here some bumper damage? Maybe.” Ugh. Well, off we went in the rain to the most unhappy place on earth. The impound lot. There are signs that suggest, in the gentlest Minnesota way, to be nice. I imagine that everyone who works here is subject to unhappy people at the least and angry people at the worst, so I tried to put on a sunny face and a cheerful lilt in my voice. Not returned, alas. The bored and indifferent clerk gave me a piece of paper to sign, took my license, and I went to await the shuttle with two other guys in morose moods. I had to inspect the car first.

We drove through the graveyard, past cars that had obviously been towed for bad parking, past cars that had been in horrible accidents. I wondered if the expensive cars that were totalled had been stolen. A guy got out, went to a nice car with a custom plate with some word that had extra Zs tyo indicate he was a DUDE, BRO. He couldn’t get in because it was wedged too tightly. I think he got in via the trunk. Another guy had been towed for parking where it said no parking was to be had. We drove on -

There it is! And it looks . . . okay, from here. When we stopped and I walked around I saw no damage. I got in - slight weed smell. I turned it on - 3/4th of a tank of gas. Made sense, since they’d dumped it in Uptown, I learned. I think they saw me go arse over teakettle and thought that there might be more heat than usual, or because they realized they didn't have the key. There was a brief period of strangeness - someone’s been sleeping in my bed - but it passed once I plugged in my phone and it started playing my favorite podcast.

But the bastard adjusted the seat. Straight to jail.

Went to the office for more goodbyes. No one’s in on Friday, so this was the last day I’d see them - well, until the party in August. Shook hands and gave some guff. Talked to the opinion editor about writing occasional pieces for the Op-Ed section and he’s certainly up to see what I have. So I might be back in the paper, with the forbidden traits: OPINION AND HUMOR. Nice little flick of the whip on the backside of my nemeses on the way out. I started out on the outside writing for that section, and now I'll end the same way.

Went outside for a last smoke break with my buddy, reminiscing about the days when it was just in the office, seemingly for years. That was the saddest moment of the day. But! We’re going to do a podcast, because of course we are.

Walked away.

One more day.

Gym goodbyes, then I turn in my card, and then I will do something I so dearly cannot wait to do: I will erase everything connected to the paper from my browser and phone. Email, content management, all the kludgy input systems, gone. I realize now I will have to snap the pencil before I turn in my badge - the final melodramatic moment. Two broken pieces left on my desk. I’m not taking my nameplate. It’s just a piece of paper. And we’re all done with paper now.

 

Another thing I won’t have to confront in the morning: someone else’s weak coffee. I suppose the modern parlance would be weak-ass coffee since that suffix must be appended to everything to sound cool, but I won’t do it. Nossir. Anyway, there were two women standing around the coffee machine up in the Eternal Pride Breakroom - for all of June the upstairs break room was dripping with flags large and small, banners, and balloons. The balloons are still up.

		It's the little, er, dongle where you, uh, blow it up that makes me laugh every time.

When I poured my cup I made a sound of dismay, which made them stop talking and look. One inquired if there was something wrong, and I said “Someone pushed the full-pot button but only did one grind of beans.” I’ve been on this crusade since people came back to the office. It only makes sense. There are three positions on the coffee maker, each indicating volume of water. Obviously. Right?

No,. Someone tried to tell me the other day the three positions referred to temperature, and that’s evident nonsense. I had to explain, kindly, that temperature is controlled by the buttons in the DBC, here. (I pointed to the secret buttons I discovered a few years ago, and which are not apparent to the naked eye.) To which the person responded, well, it’s a new coffee maker, so maybe that is what it means?

Sigh

It’s not a new coffee maker. They put in new urns. That’s all. The old urns were probably caked with residue beyond our mortal comprehension, or had lost their ability to keep coffee warm, so there are new modern redesigned urns. ANYWAY it’s obviously a matter of water-coffee ratio.)

By their guilty reaction I could tell they’d done the position-3-one-grind thing. I absolved them by saying it was a common mistake, lots of new people here, no problem I’ll just get hot water and use a coffee bag at my desk, have a great day! As I was leaving I think they were bucket-brigading all the weak Joe with cups and pouring it in the sink.

UPDATE: A few days later . . . new machines.

 

 

 

		Now the secret buttons are quite obvious. And they all look like welts.

That's what you lose when people retire. The institutional memory that says "This machine is part of a long coffee tradition that stretches back to the misty years of 1997, when I started, and the coffee came out of a spigot on the wall in the cafeteria."

They sent out a list of people who were heading out, and it was quite the roster of skill and experience. But we belonged to a different institution. It's a new crew now. Whether the new product will be a one-grind / three-water product, I leave to the judgment of the public. I wish them all the best of luck.

That will do for today.NOTE: I will be providing a free preview on the paid side of the Substack today around 10 AM - it's the first in the retooled "Ephemera" videos, which are now called "Small Things." Two quick minutes on something in my closet.

Lance and everything else returns next week, as I continue to retool the Bleat for the future. Thank you for your atten - I mean, thank you for your patience.