Letter: To Bob Miller on his retirement

Greg Raven
℅ Juvenile Justice Center
20258 U.S. Highway 18
Block 430 Cell 513
Apple Valley, CA 92307

September 30, 2018

Dear Bob,

Happy retirement!

I realize this must make me seem terribly sentimental, but whenever I see your name flagged in one of my morning XKeyscore intercepts reports, a little tear comes to my eye. Our little Bobby is all grown up, I say to myself. Back in the day, we used to call this an over-show of affection, although it’s probably just too much soy-based food in my diet.

And now you have retired. Congratulations — you’re this close to a clean get-away.

I always looked up to you. The hope was that if someone with a nose like yours could succeed, well, maybe I could, too — physical appearance notwithstanding. I was wrong, but at least your example helped me stay positive all those years.

I remember when I was still working. I would drive an hour from Newport Beach to Vista, work 8-and-a-half hours, and drive an hour home each day. I still had plenty of time to do things with my wife, mow the lawn, and sell a few fake IDs on the side (hint, hint).

Then I retired. I figured I should take on some projects to fill that 10-and-a-half hours every day. Within a week I had so many projects that I had less free time than I did before I retired. Full disclosure: One of my projects is afternoon nap and the other is eat more chocolate.

One of the other big drawbacks to retirement is that not every couple is ready, willing, or able to spend 24/7 with each other, especially if one of you is binge-watching Internet porn all day. To avoid that full nest syndrome, I suggest you take up an activity that gets you out of the house for a couple of hours: Tennis, cycling, biting rocks in half, etc. If you’ve grown to hate life, you could even go golfing, but driving your car into a freeway abutment is quicker, cheaper, and less painful; neither is recommended.

If you were to ask me for one piece of advice, I would say: Never forget your first retirement. Come to think of it, though, I wish you’d ask me for two pieces of advice, in which case my second tip would be: Figure out what holster is going to be comfortable to wear all day long before you get your concealed-carry permit. Knowing me as well as you do, you can tell these come from the heart.

I’ll still be reading your e-mails and sporadically checking the files and browser history on your home computer, of course, so I’ll close by saying, Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. This is important. This is really, really important. Just don’t.


Greg Raven