You ever have one of those “Hot damn! Hey, waaait a minute…” moments?
It’s been busy here at the office. So much so that the frenzied activity at the Beaver Society’s Annual Dam Build-o-Thon looks pretty torpid and sluggish by comparison. Unfortunately, these periods of frantic hyperactivity are often accompanied by a need+ to work on weekends.
This irksome requirement might be more tolerable if it involved actual work, but since it usually consists of attending pointless meetings that the callers of pointless meetings weren’t able to squeeze in during the week, it does little to encourage inner tranquillity.
I was mentally preparing myself for one such session of Saturday stupidity last Friday evening, when my boss announced that I could “take the day off”. He’s obviously more observant than I give him credit for, although my facial tic and the fresh tooth marks on the desk may just have tipped him off about my deteriorating mental state. The euphoria lasted about thirty seconds before it suddenly occurred to me that I’m supposed to have Saturdays off+++
+ as determined by someone further up the corporate ladder from yours truly++
++ and therefore capable of dropping enough shit on my head to make me think twice about arguing
+++ Apparently the toy comes free with the Happy Meal, too