But in twenty-three days it will be gone.
I have Short Timer’s Disease. STD.
23 days until I retire.
This thousand day countdown is now irrelevant. This is the time left until my 66th birthday: the gummit sanctioned day that I would be eligible for to collect my full allotment of Social Security moola.
When I started telling people at work that I would be retiring, Nicole-The-Receptionist, (not her real name) asked:
What happens if the guy that comes in after you doesn’t like me?
I don’t give a shit.
Which all agreed would be shortened to I.D.G.A.S. in future conversations about work-related issues.
I can’t wait to tell them I have an STD.
I’ve got it, but I’ll try not to spread it.