Last Flight to Sanity Now Boarding

There’s an unspoken law among “admins” as my boss likes to call us crazy people who keep real important folks like him afloat by filing their expenses and typing their correspondence, and that rule is, “never be complacent because complacency will bite you on the ass”.

For example, if there is a day, pretty much like today, when all is quiet, things are slow, people are on vacation and everything is winding down, don’t go and say something stupid to a coworker like, “Boy, today is dead, isn’t it? Today is the most boring day that ever lived!”

You see, on that day, the one detailed above, the clock will tick slowly around to 4:30 p.m. as you're counting down that last 45 minutes to the end of the day and you and your sanity will notice every last second of it, until suddenly…a monumental avalanche of last minute chaos will cascade down upon your stupid head at the speed of a parachutist whose chute failed because the lines were cut by an ex lover with a grudge...

Ahem...

Suddenly, everyone will want something. Everyone will have to be somewhere, Monday and you’re out Friday and so it will have to be done tonight and it’s now 4:30 and you’re supposed to be leaving this damn joint, yet you know, as sure as there’s corn in a turd, that you’re going to be seeing 7 p.m. on that same clock you’ve been growling at all day and you’re going to grind your teeth down to gnarly stumps with frustration and annoyance because you are going to spend the next three hours in a hell known as “making travel arrangements for people who don’t know their ass from their elbow.” Not only will you make travel plans, these people will change said plans several times within the span of an hour and they will want to visit various cities in an order which, if you were to plot them on a grid, would look like a six year old epileptic got a pencil stuck in their fist during a seizure. Naturally, none of it will be straightforward and you will spend the good part of a decade trying to track down a hotel in Indianapolis that serves “fresh baby sea turtle steaks” on a golden platter with a side of “holy anguish” and a hearty helping of “kill me now” and the rest of that decade slamming your head between the door and the frame.

And there will be no direct flight to Indianapolis in the three hour window he needs – he will need to go to Chicago then Tampa and really, does that make sense to anybody?

And there will be no room at the Queen of Apathy hotel.

And there will be no aisle seats on the flight to Tampa and he will be offered a middle seat between a pregnant lady with gas and a fat man with a hygiene problem.

And his car won’t show up.

And his flight back to New York will be canceled.

And he will cry like a little child and be tortured by Democrats. And boy, does he hate Democrats.

That last one was wishful thinking, sorry.

Finally, seven o’clock will roll around and you’ll go home and fantasize about French Fries knowing that in a matter of hours, you’ll check your work email, because you’re responsible like that, to find that everything has changed again and you’ll have to spend half your day off redoing everything.

Happy July 4th week!