Let’s be honest, dear Reader. Your colleagues and you have been thrown together by freakish mischance. The coalface of Heiroglyphology (and your own cutthroat sub-branch of Runic Studies) is not the place to foster deep emotional bonds.
So do not be surprised when Dr X appears in your office to let you know that Life Beyond is, in fact, so unutterably boring that you will not last 3 months of it. Do not blink when Prof Y hisses in your ear, en passant in a crowded corridor, that she is deeply disappointed. And when Dr Z emails to lament the many philosophical topics that you never debated with him over the photocopier, simply shrug your shoulders, and press delete.
Yes, dear Reader. You are now officially Apostate.
Brush aside these well-wishers, and instead head straight for the Admin Office. Find the Senior Administrator, and confirm the date and venue of your leaving party. Give her a helpful list of suggestions for presents, not forgetting to check beforehand that they will be convertible to cash (vouchers may be best). Depart, making sure to palm the key of the stationery cupboard door as you wave a cheery farewell.