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Circa 55 is a very non descript restaurant located in the Beverly Hilton, where Whitney Houston took her last sniff, I mean breath.

We celebrated a co-worker’s retirement with an old fashioned luncheon in a private room.

While the food was tasty, it was nothing to write home about.

What I WILL write home about are my random, non-sequential memories of the retiring woman.

JC was a great gal, an odd bird, a shopaholic and a workhorse.

Her lunch would often consist of slices of lunchmeat and a big squirt of mustard on a plate.

She’d brag of having finished whole containers of frosting and entire pies on many occasions.

Yet, she always had a great figure.

She had the hardest times with electronics. The IT department was always at her desk, she had a sticky note taped to her cell phone so she could remember how to check voicemails and she could never seem to work the phone systems (and she was one of the receptionists).

She was the admin assistant for our firm’s senior partner and, as he did not have a computer, she would print out every email for him.

They went through an entire forest per month.

She would dump an extra packet of grinds in the coffee maker so the end result was an undrinkable sludge.

I would bring her an almond croissant back from the farmers market every week.

She helped me get Neil Diamond to sign a headshot for my grandmother, as he was her favorite singer.

She always had a compliment ready and was always telling everyone how great they looked.

After many years at a tough job, her patience began to grow thin. She was over it. It was time for her to go.

The week before she left, I commented “I’ll visit you in New Mexico”, to which she sarcastically replied “Oh yeah, we’ll go out, we’ll drink tequila…”

On her last day, one of the other ladies in our office asked if she would like to be on her email list. JC had her repeat this several times in a much exasperated tone. “Email list? I don’t even have an email!”

I started to think if the end of my career would occur similarly. Will I be so burned out and over it that I’ll just pack up my crap and move to a warmer state?

Enjoying my new arthritic life, cozying up to the QVC with my container of frosting.

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