Toodle-oo

This afternoon the other editorial assistant here, who henceforth will be called Calvino, was telling me about his lunch hour. He had been sitting in the bagel shop reading a book.

"I was engrossed in my book," he says, already beginning to smirk, "and then I hear this loud knocking on my table. I look up and it's--" he points down the line of cubicles--"what's his name?"

"The temp?" I say. "Dan."

"Dan. I look up and he's knocking on my table." And then, imitating Dan, Calvino gives a friendly cock of the hand, a half-wave. "And he says, toodle-oo, and walks away."

"He said toodle-oo??" It was an energetic toodle-oo.

"Toodle-oo. And then he just walks away."

"And that's all he said?" I ask.

"Just toodle-oo."

Amazing.

When Calvino was leaving tonight, I offered my customary "See ya." But it ocurred to me moments later that I should've instead said "toodle-oo." I never think of these things in time.