Know how to leave

A long time ago, before the pandemic finished locking us in our respective labyrinths, there was a colleague who retired as ordered: with his statutory age, his three-year contributions, his maximum pension and his 20 years of life expectancy ahead of him, but who never finished breaking the umbilical cord with his work. Every now and then, he would show up with some excuse at the house that had been more than his, he would greet his stressed out former colleagues, who we saw him coming from afar with a mixture of envy and annoyance, and, soon, when he became more alone than one o'clock, he left with his unemployed hat and his visitor's scapular on his back until next time. He stayed like that for a few years, not many, until, upon returning from a vacation, I learned that cancer had taken him away, without even being able to go to the funeral home to say goodbye, and my conscience ached for the five minutes it took for the boss to to wear the first brown of the season and go to heaven. I'm not proud.

Since then, dozens of comrades have been retiring, more or less jubilantly or by force, and each one has retired in his own style. From those who meet to eat at the industrial park with friends every week to those who disappear from the radar and go, figuratively and literally, to a better life. Some are missed. Others leave without pain or glory. The least bring as much peace as they leave rest. For me, the worst, however, are those who believe they are essential, do not accept to take a second place, whatever their idea of ​​the first, and, in their arrogance, believe that, after them, chaos. They irritate me as much as they move me. It must not be easy to leave the place where you have spent three quarters of your life and have been everything, especially if what is outside is not enough to quench your thirst for prominence and recognition, whether you are the great chief or the last Indian. Personally, I aspire to make a discreet exit from the forum, enjoy the bag and the life that I have left and leave a good memory in the people to whom I gave, and gave me, the best of my work. I hope that by then, be it tomorrow or at 95 tacos, as the gurus of ultra-liberalism threaten, I will have one of those colleagues who tell you the truth to the face who will remind me. And if not, shoot me.

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