I can excuse Cheryl. She’s always saying her job sucks. But me? I’m supposed to be the lucky one, the one that glows from the daily infusion of fulfillment that work provides.
So explain this conversation to me.
“Hi John. Adam’s teacher just called me and Adam is throwing up all over the place.”
“So you want me to pick him up?”
“No, I’ll pick him up.”
“Are you sure. I’m supposed to be leaving in half an hour anyway.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll pick him up.”
“But it’s really o.k. I don’t mind.”
“No thanks.”
“But I can flex the time. I wouldn’t be losing any time worked.”
“…”
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I was just waiting to see if you’d start begging.”
“Please woman, can’t you see I want to get out of here! LET ME GO!”
“So I’ll see you at home at the normal time?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Two of those lines have no basis in reality.
Can you guess which ones?
Does it take something away from the entry, knowing that I made part of it up?
Can you take something from nothing?
Is your faith in me restored, or at least maintained, knowing that I feel compelled to cop to a little exaggeration when reality seems a little too boring?
Will I ever type two sentences again without a carriage return in between?