Look, the Red Sox are back home at Fenway where they’re just about invincible. And they’re pulling off dramatic, late-inning wins again. And Manny’s going deep and looking giddier than ever. And Commander Kick Ass of the F@#k Yeah Brigade is on the hill today.
Sadly, the game starts at 1:05pm–a time that those of us who revel in gainful employment are typically working our asses off under the thumb of The Man. But there’s no reason you have to be a slave to the hand that feeds you, especially when you consider that the season’s half over, and these afternoons at the ballpark will soon be a distant memory, lost in hills of fluffy snow. Carpe diem, motherf@#kers! Here’s how you can still enjoy today’s game:
The Vendor Meeting: Talk loudly to no one in particular about how you’re going to give that no-good vendor “what for” (the important thing is being heard by at least three co-workers, preferably at least one of managerial status). Then have your friend Sue or Jeffrey arrive at your offices in a neatly-pressed business suit (here, we exploit a well-known fact of the business world: while everyone knows the company has vendors, no one really knows who these vendors are or what they look like.) Explain to Sue/Jeffrey how you’ve “had it up to here with [their] inability to meet those performance metrics” as you walk down the hall with them. Bring Sue/Jeffrey into your office where you will close the door, change into your Red Sox attire, and exit through your office window, Fenway-bound. Please note that those of you without offices can still pull this off, although it involves burrowing through the floor of your cubicle, a la The Shawshank Redemption.
The Sick Aunt in Chelsea Whom You Have to Attend to at Once: Never fun to joke about ailing relatives. But ailing fake relatives? Game on!
The Tim McCarver: Book Tim McCarver for an impromptu motivational speech at your office. As McCarver launches into a semi-autobiographical anecdote relating business success to “owning a comfortable pair of cleats” and audience members (ie, your fellow workers) jump out windows, attempt to drown themselves in the coffee machine and stick their heads into the industrial shredders, call your friend to arrange to meet her at the Cask.
The Conference Call: Brag to a few people in the coffee room about how you’ve got a big conference call planned with home office (if you happen to be working from the home office, you can substitute “the guys upstate” or “our branch affiliates” or “Morgan Burkhart”). No one needs to know exactly what the topic is; just throw around a few key buzzwords like “deregulation” and “onboarding” and “accelerated culture” and people will just nod quietly, terrified to admit they have no idea what you mean. At 1:05pm, attach a sticky note to your door that reads “Conference call in progress. Do not disturb.” Tune radio to WEEI. Grab Bud Light and sandwich from briefcase. Remove pants.
The Wade Boggs: Will yourself invisible. Casually walk down hall. Open office door, depart. If anyone calls you on it — ie, you were unsuccessful in your attempt to will yourself invisible — just tell them they should attend to their own problems, like “that copyroom incident.” When they ask what you meant by that, switch your jetpack to “hyperdrive” and blast off, leaving them to their miserable, desk-bound, jetpack-free existence. And we’ll see you at the ballpark.