You know when somebody Done You Wrong, and you have to pretend itís okay? Thereís a name for that, right? The thing about pretending is that sometimes it actually makes it okay. Thereís a name for that, too I think.
Today I went on a one-man protest strike. Nobody knew I was on it, which made it a little easier. If they knew they could get along without me, Iíd lose some of my job security. When Iím forced to stage a sit-in, I can do it in the comfort of my own home, and nobody has to know. Nobody but me, anyway. And now you.
The company payroll has to get mailed out to the employees on Wednesday. In order to do that, I need the time cards no later than Tuesday at noon. Otherwise, itís an impossible deadline to keep. (Thatís a lie, as we shall see. But itís a lie I want Tim to believe, so that he doesnít think he can fax me the time cards any old time and Iíll just jump up, do the payroll, and make a special trip to the post office to make up for his negligence. Which is what I had to do today. Which is why I went on strike.)
Thereís a name for that, too. Someone elseís procrastination creates a crisis for me. Itís probably a four-syllable German name. Or maybe six; I think German words have to have an even number of syllables. Why donít we ask the pope about that, the next time we see him in the vineyard.
So anyway, I worked from early-early this morning, when I finally got the time cards, until early this afternoon, getting the payroll done and ready to mail. And then I gave myself the rest of the day off. I took Mom to lunch, and then I took a leisurely stroll through the produce section of the supermarket. When I got home, I plopped down in the recliner and tuned out the world. So there. A midday nap is the best revenge.