My father visited me a few days ago, and I had gone to drop him off at the airport. Now, whenever I go with my wife to the airport, saying goodbye to each other is a multi-step process complete with multi factor authentication.

The first goodbye is when she gets down from the car. The second goodbye is when she is second in line to enter the airport or show the ID card to the security officer. And the final goodbye is after entering the airport and then turning back and saying goodbye. I follow the same protocol when I am travelling as well. For international trips, it is mandatory to drop bags and come back and say goodbye. I mean, duh!

My father, on the other hand, said the first goodbye, and I was waiting for him to turn back and wave goodbye when he reached the security guard. He crossed the security guard and went inside, and I was hoping he would turn, but alas, he didn’t. Multi factor authentication failed. If you’re a software engineer, you might be inclined to question my intellect and understanding of MFA. You’re right to question that, but I will appreciate it if you don’t.

Anyway, if it is not apparent, I am the master of never ending goodbyes. On Slack conversations, I very much like to have the last word.

Them: Thanks, I got it from here.
Me: I am happy to help, hope you got it.
Them: Some hip happy emoticon.
Me: You’re welcome.

You get the gist.

The need to say goodbyes stems from childhood. When I was 5 years old, my mother would drop me at the gate of my school and then head to work. But there was a little ritual she followed before that. She would come and wave goodbye from the side of the classroom. The distance from the gate to the classroom was often around 5 minutes. Only after she bid goodbye would I go to my seat in the class. Pro tip: Backbenches are too mainstream. First bench is for teacher’s pets. Third or fourth benches are the best for flying under the radar and eating food. Goes without saying that I wasn’t smart enough then and was a natural teacher’s pet. The coolness came much later in life. Or did it?

Anyway, one of the days my mother was running late to work and forgot to say goodbye. Now, I am a bit like Murphy from the film Interstellar. I was confident that she would come to say goodbye, because she never missed. My class teacher, who knew this ritual well, told me, “Your mother has already left, please go to your seat.”
“Sir, you don’t know anything. My mother will come.”

The first period passed, and when the second was about to begin, I figured it was probably wise to go back to the bench.

I’m ending the article without a punchline because I can’t think of one, and I’m hungry. More importantly, I want the readers to feel exactly how I feel when I don’t get to say multiple goodbyes.

So….