365 # 96: Nan B.

I don't know quite how to tell you this, but the day you were fired was a day of floor-wide celebration in the office. You had ruled over our department with a tiny iron fist, driven by your belief that just because you were a workaholic, your employees should be as well. More overtime was your solution to every problem that came up. The worst part, the part that really ate at me, the part that made it impossible not to judge you just a little bit, was the fact that you were putting in these insane hours by choice, not because someone was telling you to, and that you had a little boy at home who probably missed his mom. My only regret was that I hadn't come into my own enough at that point to tell you to fuck off when I should have. The first day without you, the floor was all smiles and good-mornings and it's-great-to-be-heres. Everybody was in a great mood. The witch was dead.