Sure, I’m probably past faking being sick just to take a day off. That’s what vacation days are for, right?
That doesn’t mean, however, that I don’t hear a little voice inside my head singing “Danke Schoen” and claiming to be the Sausage King of Chicago.
That voice, which sounds remarkably like a young, mischievous Ferris, was outshouting all the other voices in my head today. It kept telling me that the Yankees game was on at 3:30, Tanaka was making his first start since coming off of the disabled list, and there was a batch of peanut butter brownies waiting out in my car.
“I recall Central Park in fall. How you tore dress. What a mess. I confess…”
Why were there peanut butter brownies waiting in my car? Excellent question. Glad you’re paying attention.
Since I couldn’t find a date for the Lady Antebellum concert tomorrow night, I gave my tickets to Bethany for her in laws, who are big fans of the band.
Of course, I’m still pissed at Bethany for giving her notice on Monday. She’s a cool boss, and work isn’t going to be the same without her.
So these brownies better be extra special if she ever intends to get back on my good side. I will let you know.
While I was on my lunch break, my inner Ferris kept twisting and shouting for me to go home early to watch the game and eat some brownies.
But I was at work. I’m a responsible adult.
Who has about six weeks of vacation time burning a hole in the pocket of his toga.
I turned to Micki, who was just trying to read her Kindle and be left alone, and informed her that I wanted to go home early.
She told me to go for it, and reminded me that the worse Bethany could say was “No!”.
What were the odds of a boss, who’d just given her notice, telling an employee who was mad about her leaving, that he didn’t have the right to take a few hours off to eat the brownies that she had baked for him?
And wasn’t she constantly telling me I needed to use my vacation time?
Plus he’s a huge fan of baseball.
So I asked to go home early to catch the game. She was not only totally for the idea, but she also encouraged me to stop for some ice cream on the way home. You know, to put on top of the brownies.
Being a good employee, I did exactly what my supervisor suggested. I hit the grocery store, grabbed some ice cream and Snapple, and sped home in time for the first pitch.
Where am I now? Not chained to my desk, Modern Philosophers.
I’m on the couch, watching the game, and telling you about my adventures.
The only thing that would make this better would be if Sloane Peterson showed up to spend the afternoon with me.
He knows what he’s doing, and he’d never steer you wrong.
What do you do when your inner Ferris beckons? Do you tend to listen to him, or do you tell him you’re a grown up now?