Was it just me, or did the empty offices of the now-definct SC&P remind you of the final days inside Hitler’s bunker? Still, all you need are an organ, a bottle of sweet vermouth, and a pair of rollerskates, and you’ve got yourself a party! It took some convincing to get Peggy into the spirit of things—but that’s Roger Sterling’s job. He convinces, even with that ridiculous mustache.
Leaving an office where, as a colleague pointed out to me yesterday, you can spend more years of your life inside than in the house you own, must be rather disorienting. There are new adventures to be had, but the aura and dynamic will never be the same. It sure isn’t for our friends from the old firm, who have now been scattered to the four winds (one of those winds can take you all the way out to Racine, Wisc.). You’ll run into each other randomly in an elevator and remark on how time flies. You promise to meet for lunch soon, as Don promises Joan, but that definition of soon may be some time in the next year.
There are always things to complain about in the office you’re in—Joan and Peggy suffering the slights of being a woman in the workplace, Harry never making partner (and deservedly not!), the senior ad guys feeling increasingly irrelevant. Then you move into the new place, which is all so sparkly, but at the end of the day you realize you never had it so good and wish to be back in the old Time-Life building. But you can’t go back, only forward, as Don would say.
So I guess the lesson is to enjoy the here and now, which our friends at SC&P often did not (something that Dave Barry noticed). And enjoy these last two episodes, imperfections and all. Because when it’s over, it’s over. And you’ll have to find a new “greatest show ever” to glom on to. (I still haven’t seen Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones. I hear they’re pretty good.)
Photo credit: Justina Mintz/AMC