The Final Days?

I think my manager may sense that I'm in my final days at the large governmental tax organization I work for. I won't tell you what it is (though I've told you before), but for simplicity, I'll refer to my employer as LIFE-SUCKING SPIRIT CRUSHER (or LSSC for short).

She senses it. She's got to.

I'm thinking that she may think I'm faking my injury and accompanying illness. Perhaps she thinks I'm taking advantage of my health insurance to its fullest before I quit. Damn, she's more perceptive than I thought. It's a pretty good health plan; I'll be sad to see it go.

Perhaps its the quality of my work. Think of Quality of Work on the Y-axis of a graph, and Time on the X-axis. As X increases, Y decreases. And it's not really a gradual thing. Pretty noticeable.

Mayhaps she's seen me pretend to hang myself in the miniblinds. I do this regularly for the amusement of my coworkers. But when nobody is around and I try it...it is not just for amusement.

I also regularly wonder aimlessly around the office. I feel that if I do this with papers in my hand, and stop to COPY those papers in the copy machine at least once, I'll look like I'm working. Sometimes I find candy on people's desks. If it's good, I eat it. If it's not, I present it to my coworkers as small gifts--to make them think I'm thinking of them. This goes back to my instinct as the primitive hunter-gatherer.

Sometimes I stand and watch out the window as traffic drives by. I think, "Wow, I could be standing in the middle of that highway. Instead, I'm standing here looking out at the highway I wish I was standing in the middle of." Zen.

But oh well. If I can make it to July 22nd, that's a Friday. On that Sunday, I go to Hawaii. I fuck around for a week, then come back and I'm on call for jury duty.

Sixteen days to what I'm hoping is an extended period without work. I'm not expecting to do the usual things to get me out of jury duty (such as in Curb Your Enthusiasm when Larry David is asked if he can think of any reason why he shouldn't serve on the jury and he answers, "Um, your honor, the defense appears to be a Negro."). I'll do my civic duty. Naturally, I'll do it on the taxpayer's dime.

For Hawaii, a lovely friend of mine has OFFERED to drive me all the way down to John Wayne Airport WAY out in Orange County (about an hour or so drive). On a Sunday morning. How will I make it up to her? A bread pudding? I love bread pudding. I must make her at least one. And steak. Who doesn't like steak? I could definitely bring her some nice Hawaiian coffee (the pure shit) and some chocolate covered mac nuts and coffee beans. And Roscoe's House of Chicken 'n Waffles. Mmmmm. Roscoe's...That is too nice of her. At first, I couldn't get over the guilt of the thought of her driving back the hour by herself...boring, long drive sans Ryan to entertain.

But hopefully the Roscoe's will make up for it. Roscoe's is the best.