And you know, in four months of working there, I didn't meet a single person that I liked.

In fact, most of these women scraped my nerves like knuckles on a cheese grater. Bitch, moan, whine, all day. They grumbled to themselves while they made copies, rolled their eyes between customers, made false friendships and insulted each other in the hallways. Between their elaborately frumpy hairdos and worn-shapeless pink smocks, their pasty white faces were filled with wrinkles and always, always making puppy-dog eyes. Or weasel eyes, which is - while not quite as awful - still bad.

I had thought it was grinding to work in an office full of successful, well-dressed, put-together women. "These women complain too much," I thought. "They have nothing to complain about, I don't see why they have to be like that." But lord, o lord, I had never worked in an office with senile women and women with bad credit and women with health issues and small children and giant bags under their eyes. Most of them were fairly intelligent, but not a one among them, not one, would ever take responsibility for her choices in life. No, they just came to work in their barely-acceptable shirts with pictures of puppies on them, and their haircuts from 1985... and bitched and whined, all day long.

I couldn't believe how many of them there were. They seemed to bleed from the walls. Never a moment of silence in that place, and rarely a topic of conversation other than how much they all disliked their workplace.

Anyway, today was my last day and I snuck out without really saying goodbye to anyone. It's for the best. I wouldn't have known what to say.