The pampering comfort from my bed seemed to tolerate my morning laziness. I did not hear the beep of my alarm clock today. It gave me the license to extend for a couple of hours hugging my soft pillow while allowing my subconscious mind to create vivid scenes that have a remote likelihood of happening in real life. No tardiness offense will be imposed upon me for giving in to my yearning for a longer undisturbed slumber. No questions will be asked. Starting today, I am officially unemployed.

I tossed and turned but I still could not get over what happened the day before.

It was a fine Thursday. I surrendered my keys after clearing up my lockers. Books, CDs and training materials were returned to the technical department. My enormous pile of paper works were handed down to the basement for central filing. For the first time, my usually congested desk seemed to have breathed in with the much-desired space.

Just when I thought I could release the best smile that I could give and savor the tremendous relief arising from my so-called liberation, my eyes came across an unfinished tax checklist. It was a few minutes after 11 o’clock in the morning. Not surprisingly, I heard the voice of the person next to me calling my attention.

“Early lunch, Les?” Mel asked.

“Sure, but please give me seven more minutes… promise, just seven minutes,” I replied as I scurried on the few remaining pages of the checklist.

The same thing happens almost every weekday. I was prepared to hear the probably most-asked question during lunch time.

“So where do you want to eat?” Mel asked without really expecting an answer other than anywhere. Yes, anywhere although there are qualifications. It will definitely not be on the ninth floor notwithstanding the reasonableness of food prices and variety of cuisine. Unless there are urgent tasks to be accomplished, I would suggest having lunch outside the office building where I could somehow forget about work even for just an hour. I could hardly do that if I could see familiar work-related faces as I munch my food. And certainly, my batch mates would protest if we enter a restaurant with poor exhaust fans. The awful smell of food stuck in our clothing will surely be detrimental to the people around us.

“What about Old Spaghetti House?” At last, someone gave a specific answer.

I looked at Mel. Could she be serious? Aside from the distance from our office to the restaurant, I never had a craving for pasta. But of course, there had to be a consensus.

“Are you sure, Mel? Maybe we could think of another,” Donnabs’ voice seemed to insinuate a different preference.

“We’ve been eating pizza for days so I’m thinking of knock-out knuckles this time,” I said as I imagined the crispy knuckles with garlic and the strawberry iced tea that goes well with it. It may be a little costly but since it was my last day, I could have an excuse to spend more.

“I told you Mel, my team mates and I ate there last week and…” Donnabs tried to explain but was quickly interrupted.

“You see, I rarely choose the place…could you please give in to my request this time, just this time?” I could see marks of slight dismay on Mel’s face as she tried to convince us while Donnabs continued to object.

The two of them continued to argue as I make the most of my seven minutes. Our usual day was never without minor squabbles, pestering, mockery, and strong whacking against each other’s upper arm – all of which became our acts of endearment. Our three years and seven months of working together created a sturdy foundation of friendship that no matter what happens, we always come out laughing in the end.

My time was over but there seemed to be no consensus yet. It was only when we crossed the street that I realized that Mel probably succeeded. We were on our way to the Old Spaghetti House.

In front of the classically designed door of the restaurant, I figured that Donnabs has not surrendered yet. “Look Mel, there are only three customers inside. Perhaps this place is really no good,” she uttered.

“That’s because it is still early. Let’s go, I like it upstairs,” Mel replied as she firmly pulled the knob.

We went up and I was partly surprised to see another staircase leading to another level. The narrowed third floor was covered with an opaque wall so I did not notice during my earlier visits. Mel, who was ahead of us, was on her way up when a member of the crew called our attention.

“Ma’am, the seats upstairs were taken,” she said.

My two companions did not seem to hear her because they continued their steps toward the constrained area.

“Mel, Donnabs, we can’t go there. We could stay here at the second floor,” I said in a loud voice. But I was likewise ignored. I was left alone at the base of the stairs. I was feeling anxious but I had no choice but to follow them.

Slowly, I carried my feet up until I reached the conspicuous spot where I was welcomed with the flickering of a camera.

“Happy birthday!!!” I was greeted with hearty smiles and vigorous laughter.

I was stunned. Speechless. In front of me were around 20 of my wonderful officemates with whom I spent my long, unforgettable working days. These people are among the reasons why I could still manage to smile despite the pressures of work. I rarely felt miserable whenever pending reports pile up in front of me because there was always someone who would say, “Don’t worry. We’re on the same boat.”

No, it was not my birthday. But it was probably the most popular greeting that they could think of. Happy despedida sounds odd. And Bon Voyage does not seem appropriate to start the celebration.

“So who is this for?” I asked. Perhaps the very lucky person is yet to arrive. Was it really for me? I still could not believe my senses. At that moment, I was truly overwhelmed. Suddenly, I loved the Old Spaghetti House.

With plenty of food, the high-spirited conversation went with jokes and constant teasing. Then they wished me well for the different yet exciting experience that I am about to face overseas.

Back in the office, I glanced at the small note in front of me which had my handwriting. It read: I love audit. It was a statement that I kept telling my officemates only to receive chuckles and remarks of doubt as a response. Actually, it was not meant to be a joke but a way to convince myself to enjoy what I’m doing. However, almost nobody believed me. Sometimes, not even myself.

Moments of realization will always be there. This is one of those moments. I believe that audit is not just the work itself and the training that goes with it. Aside from the challenging experiences that make us stronger, we meet a lot of special people who unknowingly but effectively touch our lives. And even before we leave, we know that we have become better persons.

I went over the remaining papers for disposal when I chanced upon a small brown envelope. It contained an extra copy of my resignation letter. I silently pondered on the second paragraph.

It read: “Becoming part of the Firm is one of the best things that ever happened to me and leaving it is one of the most difficult decisions that I had to make.”

As for this, I mean it. I really do.

* * *

Thanks to Coco and the rest of the group for organizing the activity. Thanks to all those who came and to those who were not there. Thanks to everyone.

July 2007. Leslie E. Vicente, signing off.