In Which the Well Runs Dry

Yet another post in which I reveal how very small I really am. Perhaps you may recall that I used to work for the Small Business Administration, before I slipped their leash last year by retiring. An important component of my job was running the classes we had for ingrate entrepreneurs. It was very much like being a producer; I would finagle small business people and other experts into volunteering to teach the classes, then organize the details, the room, the marketing, the registration, the attendees, the clean-up. More than 400 classes a year, about two classes every single fucking day. I now understand the main part of my job was worrying about those details, no wonder I was cranky.

Last week, I ran into one of the guys I had used as a teacher and without prompting, he launched into a bitter screed about how the whole thing is going to hell in a shabby handbag. Attendance is way down, since now no one is doing any marketing, no new class topics, and my former colleagues seem baffled and surly when the volunteer teachers show up.

I suppose I should be concerned that my former baby is struggling, but I all I felt was smug and gratified. We have all been there, haven't we? Slogging along in a literally thankless job and thinking "They'd be sorry if I wasn't here," but knowing, really, that we're just replaceable cogs and that things could stumble along just fine without us.

Hah. Not this time. Take me for granted much? Suck it bitches. How immensely flattering.

I think I'll take a nap with the houseboys to celebrate.