The Badge That Still Opened Doors

On her final afternoon at the laboratory, Beatrice discovered that nobody had arranged to collect her access badge. Her replacement was busy, her manager was travelling and the administrator had gone home early. After twenty-one years, leaving appeared to require less ceremony than borrowing a projector. She put the badge in her bag and caught the usual bus.

For several days, she imagined returning unnoticed. She could walk through the familiar corridor, use the coffee machine and hear someone ask her opinion. The thought embarrassed her, but the badge offered a physical promise that she had not entirely disappeared. Her new job began the following month, in a smaller organisation where nobody knew her old achievements.

A message finally arrived asking her to return the badge by post. She started writing a cold reply about the absence of a proper farewell. Then her replacement called, not about the badge but about a confusing set of notes. Beatrice explained them, enjoying the familiar authority in her voice. Before hanging up, she admitted that the departure had felt strangely unfinished.

Her replacement suggested coffee outside the laboratory. They met on Friday, and Beatrice handed over the badge between cups. There was no applause, but there was a real conversation about work she had done and work she would not do. Afterwards, she reached automatically for the badge at a supermarket entrance. Finding an empty pocket, she laughed and walked through the public door.