What’s the weekend for anyway? I just enjoyed two of the most exciting, beautiful and fulfilling days of my entire life. Now, I’m back before my computer in my small cubicle at a job in which I barely know what I’m doing. I know for a fact that I am definitely, extremely under qualified, but I aced the interview after I promised to bring a big chocolate cake for everyone in the office every Friday with candles, streamers and noisemakers. When the first Friday finally arrived last week, after having watched my entire Gimme A Break Season 3 DVD set the night before (until 7 AM in the morning), I brought in one Hostess HoHo and told everyone to divvy it up amongst themselves. When everyone started complaining and pointing at me every time I walked down our aisle of cubicles, chanting, “Liar! Liar!” (Charisse even started crying, blubbering that when she was little, her mother once served her entire birthday party of twenty kids only one sliced-up Twinkie), I declared that Chocolate Cake Fridays were off.
I then hollered until I was red in the face that the whole lot of them were ungrateful and emotionally unstable. Afterwards, I cried in the washroom over the sink, watching myself in the mirror. That’s when my boss, Sheila, came to see me. I screamed at her to leave me alone, then apologized and told her that I came from a family with an appetite disorder called "Naturally Stapled Stomach" (not true), and that we could never finish a HoHo as a family without spewing it everywhere (truth is, I ate four HoHos every day for breakfast from the age of two until my bout with rickets and scurvy at age nineteen). She told me to go home early, and I thought to myself, “Summer Hours!” And that’s when I boarded a bus with my wife and cat and we spent two touching, wondrous, thought-provoking days together. Thought-provoking as in making me think that there is way more to life than purchase orders, wiping tears from your computer keyboard and flooding the office washroom so we can all go home early.