A dark suit roars

Polo T ponders for a moment then tosses Suit the silver pen.

The other snatches it from the the air and immediatly begins the weave...

Looking back over his shoulder as he walks away, Polo T sighs.

~~~


Suit's Rant
~~~~~~~~~~~

Its the last week of my time in this job.

In this last year I've beaten and forged into shape well over 100 million dollars of plans and budgets. I've been here late nights and weekends, on the promise that this would help me fly to higher heights.

yet on this my final week with mere days left to go, I still feel like a number.

I cast my mind back to a year ago, on my final days at the hive.

Ahhhh, my final days buzzed.

Colleagues would come knocking on my office "door" and wish me well. The juniors would come to me seeking final bits of advice and information from takign over my projects.

There was a minor fanfair as the secutaries decided on a parting gift for me.
My bosses and mentors would pat me on the back and tell me I was goign to be sorely missed.

On my final day my dpt gathered and brought me down to the local. Speeches were made, spinning a tale of my time there.

I was the fix it Project manager, the one that worked strange hours but could get it done. The incidental procurement expert, that seemed to weave my magic across almost everyone's project and made things appear on time.

They listed all my achievements and thanked me for them all.

I left sad, because I felt like i had made a difference, like I belonged.

In the weeks following my departure, I was still fielding calls on my projects. So far reaching was my handiwork that my consultation was still required to make things work. And my ex-colleagues, now friends, still contact me from time to time to discuss things and I like wise go to them for advice when a learned chat is required.

This time around. I had a 20 min mind dump to my senior. I've gathered from the grapevine that I've already been replaced and he arrives in 2 weeks. No one had the courtesy to let me know. My team will have grudgingly cleared an afternoon to eat a quick lunch to send me on my way before they wipe my desk down for the next number cruncher and hand him the last year of my work life.

I doubt they will contact me once I leave the building

I know am usually a proud man, and that in many ways this is not a good thing.

But this time, I feel chided.

I am Carravaggio, a project manager of considerable skill and a problem fixer across multiple engineering disciplines.

I've dulled my strategic mind and let myself become a number.

No longer.

On thursday I leave this place and spread my wings once more.