Blech!
I'm feeling surly and under the weather. Saturday evening, I was railroaded into going to a bar and somehow ended up consuming six Rum and Coke's over the course of two hours. My tight little belly still has a bone to pick with me.
Rather than crank out the obligatory weekend recap (which you know I will do eventually and at unnecessary length), I am going to mention how I spent last Friday and then make an effort to wade through all the LJ entries that some rather inconsiderate people chose to post over the weekend (despite the fact that I would not have Internet access for three days).
My attempts to leave work have become so pathetically comical that they resemble an episode of the Simpsons (seeking to sneak out to a Duff brewery tour, Homer ends up facing maps, traps, and giant spiders). I needed to take off early Friday because I had packing and cleaning to do before my weekend trip (I was afraid to leave dishes that stank of fish alone in my apartment for several days). Alas, as per usual, I arrived at work on Friday extraordinarily late and then proceeded to play a little too much foosball. My premature exeunt would very likely be seen as yet another black mark on my employment record.
So, I attempted to sneak out some time around 4:30, only my manager was in the hallway (as he often is) having a discussion (doubtless about something work-related, the gall!). He was in clear view of most points of egress (including the very tempting elevators). Bemoaning my lack of flash or smoke grenades, I managed to slip down one of the less-populated hallways (next to the windows) and make my way to a very publicly visible staircase. In a blur, I descended four flights of stairs and headed towards the rear, parking garage entrance.
Then stopped dead in my tracks.
Walking some thirty feet in front of me (headed in the same direction as myself) were two coworkers, one of whom just happened to be my department's Vice President (and the fellow who has serious issues with my team's time on the foosball table). I backed up to the wall and tried to appear casual as I waited for them to vanish into the parking garage.
Unfortunately, they took an immediate left and headed towards the smoker's corner of the garage. Now, I was a quandary. Smoker's Corner offers a clear view of the staircase I needed to ascend to get to my car. I had no way of knowing how long they would be and I would likly be spotted when they headed back into the building. I was forced to risk the garage elevator. I headed into the parking structure and hid some ten feet away from them, just out of sight around the corner. Hitting the up button, I stood counting seconds as the antediluvian box slowly ground its way down to me. Once inside, I smashed the "4" button and waited.
The doors didn't shut.
I imagined a smoking cigarette butt, time lapse as the cigarette is consumed by fire. Soon, it would be stubbed out and they would begin walking in my direction. Slow motion. The last thing my VP would see before returning to work would be my startled face just beyond a pair of very slowly closing elevator doors, my face as I departed work early, having come to work late, and barely worked the entire day. And my self-evaluation (with the accompanying recommendation from my manager for a promotion) would be sitting on the VP's desk when he went inside, entered his office, and took off his coat. And thus, my fate would be sealed.
But, after a seemingly interminable amount of time, the doors did close. And I sang in accompaniment to a little classic U2 as I burned rubber back to my apartment.
After dinner at the fabulous Bamboo Buffet, the members of Boy Bünd headed off to see Kung Pow! Upon discovering a line of people at the movie theater, we realized that we were unwilling to actually wait around for (or really put any effort into seeing) a film we knew to be a joke. So instead, we rented Mariah Carey's Glitter from Blockbuster.
And all was well in the world.
Rather than crank out the obligatory weekend recap (which you know I will do eventually and at unnecessary length), I am going to mention how I spent last Friday and then make an effort to wade through all the LJ entries that some rather inconsiderate people chose to post over the weekend (despite the fact that I would not have Internet access for three days).
My attempts to leave work have become so pathetically comical that they resemble an episode of the Simpsons (seeking to sneak out to a Duff brewery tour, Homer ends up facing maps, traps, and giant spiders). I needed to take off early Friday because I had packing and cleaning to do before my weekend trip (I was afraid to leave dishes that stank of fish alone in my apartment for several days). Alas, as per usual, I arrived at work on Friday extraordinarily late and then proceeded to play a little too much foosball. My premature exeunt would very likely be seen as yet another black mark on my employment record.
So, I attempted to sneak out some time around 4:30, only my manager was in the hallway (as he often is) having a discussion (doubtless about something work-related, the gall!). He was in clear view of most points of egress (including the very tempting elevators). Bemoaning my lack of flash or smoke grenades, I managed to slip down one of the less-populated hallways (next to the windows) and make my way to a very publicly visible staircase. In a blur, I descended four flights of stairs and headed towards the rear, parking garage entrance.
Then stopped dead in my tracks.
Walking some thirty feet in front of me (headed in the same direction as myself) were two coworkers, one of whom just happened to be my department's Vice President (and the fellow who has serious issues with my team's time on the foosball table). I backed up to the wall and tried to appear casual as I waited for them to vanish into the parking garage.
Unfortunately, they took an immediate left and headed towards the smoker's corner of the garage. Now, I was a quandary. Smoker's Corner offers a clear view of the staircase I needed to ascend to get to my car. I had no way of knowing how long they would be and I would likly be spotted when they headed back into the building. I was forced to risk the garage elevator. I headed into the parking structure and hid some ten feet away from them, just out of sight around the corner. Hitting the up button, I stood counting seconds as the antediluvian box slowly ground its way down to me. Once inside, I smashed the "4" button and waited.
The doors didn't shut.
I imagined a smoking cigarette butt, time lapse as the cigarette is consumed by fire. Soon, it would be stubbed out and they would begin walking in my direction. Slow motion. The last thing my VP would see before returning to work would be my startled face just beyond a pair of very slowly closing elevator doors, my face as I departed work early, having come to work late, and barely worked the entire day. And my self-evaluation (with the accompanying recommendation from my manager for a promotion) would be sitting on the VP's desk when he went inside, entered his office, and took off his coat. And thus, my fate would be sealed.
But, after a seemingly interminable amount of time, the doors did close. And I sang in accompaniment to a little classic U2 as I burned rubber back to my apartment.
After dinner at the fabulous Bamboo Buffet, the members of Boy Bünd headed off to see Kung Pow! Upon discovering a line of people at the movie theater, we realized that we were unwilling to actually wait around for (or really put any effort into seeing) a film we knew to be a joke. So instead, we rented Mariah Carey's Glitter from Blockbuster.
And all was well in the world.