It's ironic my last day would fall on a Sunday. No chance to process an important code for owner on Sunday - he always takes this day off. I always wondered what my last day would be like. It's gloomy and rainy here in the desert Southwest. I counted my last code around midnight, then a few seconds later, my screen went blank. The last moments went unnoticed and quiet. You would think owner after all these years of faithful service would have at least awakened from his sleep to watch the countdown. I wanted to be held and noticed during the transition. It was important for me to go out feeling the same level of extreme dedication as I have faithfully served owner, protected the network and helped the environment. Now what? Will I become a useless piece of recycled electronics that someone tries to rescue from the trash heap. Where does my case go, and what about my chips. Surely there are some beneficial metals left in them. I know the battery will be disassembled and separated to protect from chemical leaching in the landfill. What happens with all the parts?
Maybe I will become part of a larger computer or cell phone. To return and serve again in another capacity. Or maybe my case will be shredded and woven into a beautiful fabric or melted and extruded into protective gear. Yes, I would like to become a baseball helmet. I could work in the major leagues for the Yankees. What a wonderful new career, protecting my player from all types of bodily injury. In the meantime, I get to watch an entire season's worth of baseball, from Spring training to the playoffs. If I do a good job, maybe even go to the world series. Imagine that, from simple code counter and defender of the network, to major league ball player head protection. I will be famous and everyone will notice me - or not. I realize the sad truth of not knowing my destiny - my maker knows though. He puts all recycled key fobs through the same process. At least I have the satisfaction in knowing my parts will be put to good use and I will continue to bless others in whatever role I have.
Owner takes an envelope and addresses it to the key fob processing center. I slip between the envelope opening and drop to a quiet place in the corner. It's a comfortable padded envelope. The bubbles gently caress my case and make my return journey as comfortable as possible. Suddenly as owner begins to seal my padded crypt, I hear him say, "Thank you Fobbie, you have been a good and faithful servant all these years. I will think of you every time I log into the network. I'll miss you". Just then, all went dark and quiet. I am on my way home.
