Thursday's morning session was held in the same room as the afternoon before. Most folks sit at the same table, even in the same chair, but a few move around to new groups.

Of the group of four "newbies" at the upper left corner table, next to ours, three either failed to show (too much partying) or moved to other tables. Leaving one gal at that huge table, all by herself. This in a room where no other table had fewer than four people, and most were pretty much crowded. And at the front of the room, no less.

Thought about inviting her to join our table, but I pondered it for a moment too long. The head of HR got up and began his explanation of our new, formal anti-discrimination and harassment policy. No way to lean clear across her table without being obvious to the whole room.

So, all through his talk, I wondered what to do. Me, I would feel awkward and more than a little embarrassed to be the only person sitting alone in a big huge room. But others might not be bothered.

She was sitting stony faced, looking a little too interested in his bureaucratic presentation. Yeah, it bothered her.

Now, this was only supposed to be a four-hour session, and he took nearly an hour. After that, is there any point to an invitation to join a group?

Hell, yes.

So when he took time to explain his forms we needed to sign, I slid my chair across the gap and asked if she wanted to move over for a better view.

"No, that's all right." Typical human response. Actually anticipated that. No one ever wants to appear alone or vulnerable.

Oh, we got room. Just come on over.

And she quick makes the comedic gesture of checking her underarms, as if there is some problem she wasn't aware of.

And moves on over. And explains to the group, she doesn't know what the problem is. She took a shower this morning. Really no time for any other conversation, but at least she wasn't sitting alone anymore.

The second speaker was a friend, summarizing several recent research projects. We're getting high tech now, using the remote mikes that clip to the collar with controls that hook to the belt. But it wouldn't work for him. After a few minutes of technical delay, he discovers he had it on 'Mute'.

Someone suggested it might be better to keep it that way.

He had the only two unnecessary, annoying uses of "utilizing" that made my teeth grate all day.

His comment as he neared the end, and the limit of his time?

"If I start running long, somebody kick me in the butt, here."

Have you ever seen a #2 boss of your outfit laying in pajamas on a cot, snoring away, only to wake and say "Holy Bleep!"

Wait, maybe I don't want to know.

But I have. Rather than the usual tedious bookkeeping presentation on how and why our outfit will be broke in two years, the top staff gave the news to us in a skit. With a #2 boss being Scrooge, being visited by four ghosts.

The ghosts were wrapped in toga sheets, with gold laurels on their heads as halos.

Really.

Lots of improv. One ghost, who has almost no hair to support his halo, was asked to turn aside, as his halo was so much brighter than the others.

Besides the fiscal problems facing our outfit, we also learned that Alabama is no longer Wildlife Conservation Hell. It has moved to Idaho and Washington.

One staff member, the fourth ghost, was unable to attend. So they selected another to play her role, wearing a great big cardboard sign over his toga saying "Kathy."

Their victim? The brand new interim acting temporary #1 boss.

His first, impromptu line? With his bony finger pointing just as imperiously as the Ghost of Christmas Future?

"Laugh, Haley, and you're going to Jeffrey City." In office only six days, and he has already learned the power of affecting transfers.

Another speaker had the same problems with the remote mike. Rather than fidgeting with the controls, he stood immobile, repeatedly reciting:

"Can you hear me now?"

"Can you hear me now?"

"Can you hear me now?"

A perfect imitation of the Verizon Man. Even gave us the "V" when they got it to work.

We were all at the wrong session. Several of the folks who attended the first session, aware that these were Harry's last outfit meetings, and that he had declined a retirement party (presumably to avoid the embarrassment they were about to inflict upon him), decided to make a special presentation in his honor.

Fortunately, someone was wise enough to video the whole shebang. Which was digitized and projected on the large screen for us to enjoy a couple days later.

It started with a show by the "Village Idiots". Yes, a parody of the Village People, with excellent costuming (but the Indian regalia was real, not costume, as was the Patrolman and construction man). With lyrics cleverly rewritten to record Harry's long, distinguished and vocal career.

It was a hoot.

Then came the presentation of gifts. Of which I can only remember a few.

Special "dribble shoes." Treated to withstand a pH of 2.5, matching the urine of old geezers.

A pink flamingo lawn ornament (Really! Out here in the sage. Wonder if they stole that from a highway median somewhere.)

A Viagra IV drip.

Camo-colored Depends diaper.

In the presentation, the lead singer of the Idiots uttered the phrase "kiss my ass." And then quickly apologized to the HR head, whose presentation on sexual harassment they had just been through. "But Harry said it first."

A tie shortened to fit Harry's physical stature (about 5") (Another violation of the new harassment policy, I'm sure.)

The only practical gift was a set of coveralls that all senior citizens seem to have for working on their ATVs and snowmachines. Which he wore to their buffet, and also ours. (Along with the tie.)

Oh, yeah. And a hospital ID bracelet. With Harry's name, and these instructions: "If found in a disoriented state, please place in the nearest tree stand."

As noted by one of the folks at our table, "That is the first time I ever saw Harry speechless."