After Work

Production days — Fridays, when the week's collection of files for the Monday newspaper goes to the printer — are long ones. Jean doesn't work them anymore. Charlene wanders in for a few minutes in the afternoon and then goes her merry way. Our high school student has been in for an hour and is long gone. Bev begins wrapping up her front desk business so she can leave and lock the door at 5:30. Lee shuts off his computer and heads for home.

"You're missing all the fun!" I tell him as he prepares to walk out the door. "After hours: that's when we gals whip off our bras and get crazy!"

"I'm sure," he chuckles and waves goodbye.

Alison, Rita and I are left to finish the pages and get them sent. Occasionally the three of us go for a meal and a beer together when the job is done. Last night we walked out of the office shortly after 7 and strolled over to T & T Café on Main Street. It was a glorious, calm evening, pretty dark already. You almost hated to go into another building after being inside all day.

Alison and Rita agree: Damn that cold beer tastes fine.

Rita is left-handed, so I have a seat to myself. We are all having Cantonese chow mein. Our friendly waiter, who owns the place with his wife, places our order in the kitchen and stops to chat with the other customers in the restaurant, which closes in less than an hour.

The kid who abhors my "silly" singing has posted something to his page: http://goldengrainfarm.blogspot.ca/p/love-letters.html.
I keep telling him we turn into our parents eventually.
Think this is evidence?