Lost in the shuffle of our move was the lovely going away do that Graham threw for me. No on likes to be given a going away party. All that attention just because you decided to leave and move on. The people you are leaving behind make you feel like Andy in Shawshank redemption. 'That lucky bastard escaped.'
I told Graham this after I found out what he arranged, but he asked me to please go along with it.
And I'm so glad he did.
This is Graham reading a thoughtful little summary of my stay in Wokingham.
He hit all the right notes; i.e. he made fun of what I wear
The other inmates looking on with disdain for me and my escape.
Graham even scoured our blog to pull up embarrassing photos of me.
The one with the fez and smoking jacket was particularly awkward.
I tortured Graham for two and a half years. When he was deeply involved in a conference call I would throw a ball off of his glass wall and scare him to death. I dumped about 100 sponge balls with our company logo all over his desk one night. After he complained about Guernsey being a crap place for us to visit I sent him a postcard from the Tourism Bureau of Guernsey telling him to F-off. We named our taxidermy duck after him.
I would draw little cock and balls on his important notes.
(Although this backfired on me when I drew a big cock and balls and put the paper on the windshield of his car. Only to find out that the car belonged to the VP of Marketing. Graham loved that one.)
You got me back the most devious way possible. Utter kindness and sentiment.
Thank you, Graham, my friend. I miss you already.
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