Retiring NonStop
👔 Tale from the W2
I left my backpack in the war room — rookie mistake.
The air in there was already thick with stress. A dozen engineers hunched over glowing monitors, troubleshooting a production meltdown under the watchful glare of Rohit, our strict senior manager.
God, I’m glad I work remote.
We were all in for an all-hands — a funeral, really — celebrating the retirement of a 20-year-old legacy system called NonStop.
Ironically, it had stopped plenty.
Kevin, Tyberius, and I ducked into a spare conference room. Since Kevin and I were building part of the replacement system, we weren’t required to perform grief for the old one.
Tyberius drifted off early, probably to go shake hands with the other PMs.
Kevin — slow Texan drawl — was venting about weekend work again.
“Dafuq you working weekends for?” I asked.
Ever since I showed him GitHub Copilot Agents, Grandpa has been on demon mode — lapping me in commits — but there’s no universe where I’m spending Saturdays doing sprint tickets.
I slipped back into the war room to grab my bag.
Tension thick. Pin-drop silent.
Everyone locked in, eyes glassy under fluorescent lights.
“Y’all tryna eat?” I asked. “Let me know.”
Silence. One engineer nodded absently.
Rohit and our manager Nathalie herded us to the elevators. We packed in like sardines.
For a second, I wanted to make a fart joke — about how I used to gas these elevators out pre-COVID — but I caught myself.
I’ve already been kicked out of a marriage. I’m not risking a job next.
Downstairs, I hit the Asian stall. Teriyaki chicken.
The lunch guy loaded every veggie topping, giving me that look like, See? It’s free, man.
Sat across from Nathalie and Kevin. Took my first bite — tasted like ass before eating ass was cool.
Nothing’s changed since I used to come in daily.
Same cafeteria. Same lighting. Same hollow small talk.
Only difference is now I know exactly who I am in the middle of it.
Next up: the main auditorium — the official NonStop send-off.
I’ll spare you the corporate drivel.
Imagine a PowerPoint funeral.
The After-Party
The company rented out The Circuit Lounge, an arcade-bar hybrid with craft beer and neon lights.
In the parking lot, I spotted Raj — an ops engineer — sprinting toward his car with a dark wet patch on his jeans.
I pretended not to see it.
Minutes later, he joined the line outside, now with a hoodie tied around his waist. Veteran move.
Security funneled people inside in waves. Two drink tickets each at the door.
I’ve been cutting back — tracking through Reframe — targeting one drink tonight.
We’ll see.
Some employee gave a quick speech — some bullshit about this being our “home away from home” — then swung the big door open like a drawbridge.
Inside looked like a neon jungle — arcade lights flashing, beer taps hissing, nervous tech laughter bouncing off polished concrete.
A playground for networking.
My terrain.
I grabbed a bourbon-peach cocktail and wandered toward the boutique bowling lanes.
My old team had one. I caught up with them.
Evan — one of the staff engineers — was wrestling with a dead lane screen.
“It working?” I asked.
He shook his head. Noted.
We grabbed a booth — me, Evan, Luis (my staff engineer), Darius (another staff engineer), and John the UX manager.
John immediately started complaining about trying to get the company to allow SSNs for credit checks.
Alright, enough work talk.
I drifted back to the bar and ran into Sebastien — an architect with the posture of a man carrying too many org charts on his back.
We grabbed another drink. I downgraded to an IPA.
I remembered the dead bowling screen and asked one of the staff.
They pointed left — six empty lanes.
Liquid courage hit. My introversion evaporated.
I rallied the troops instantly:
Evan. Luis. Darius. My manager Nathalie. Kevin. Tyberius.
They followed without hesitation.
Two lanes secured.
People came and went like migrating birds — every time someone left to network, someone else drifted in.
Roger, a PM manager, joined us. My old manager Lillian once told me to reach out to him about paternity leave, so I knew he had kids.
“How was the beginning with your daughter?” he asked.
“Rough.”
He said the first months are just “Yes ma’am,” but the fun starts around 8 months when dads get included and the kid actually interacts.
Hmm.
Didn’t tell him I got exiled right before then.
Suddenly my turn to bowl came up. I cut him off — “One sec, I’ll be back.”
Darius shot me a look like I’d committed a felony.
“Bro, I’ll bowl for you,” he said.
Was I rude?
Is it the alcohol?
Then the VP, Simon, arrived — a bucket of drink tickets in hand — handing them out like communion.
Gave me two more.
Great. I’m past my limit.
By the bar, I spotted Dr. Chen — Distinguished Engineer.
Basically CEO-level on the IC track.
He used to be staff in my old department before catapulting three levels up.
He put in a word for me when I got this job.
We caught up.
Rohit lurked nearby, pretending not to listen.
Interesting. Now Rohit knows I know Dr. Chen.
After a quick goodbye, I headed back to the lanes — beer in hand.
Simon actually swung by and threw a strike like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. The team erupted.
Then Darius grabbed my keys.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said.
I told him I could Uber.
He shook his head. “No man, it’s fine. I’ll take you.”
Then he mentioned his coworkers were following him so they could drive him back.
That’s when it hit me — he still thought I was driving back to a house, a wife, a family.
Not the apartment.
Not the new life.
Not the divorce.
Somewhere between the parking lot and the highway, I told him.
Just dropped it plain. No drama. No story.
He didn’t pry. Just nodded, eyes on the road — like he understood more than he let on.
And that was it.
Two worlds colliding in one quiet car ride —
the old narrative dying,
the new one breathing.
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