The Kind of Pretend I Don't Play

It’s Friday afternoon. Friday afternoon after lunch. Half of the office went out to this taqueria today. The scope of lunch-breaking was unprecedented. We were gone forever. It seemed like hours…maybe it wasn’t, but geez! This is the third day in a row that I’ve gone out for lunch with co-workers and have some tipple (if you can call wine or beer tipple).

I need to stop such shenanigans. If I’m going to slack at work, it’s going to be slacking that’s constructive to my own personal pursuits—like writing freelance articles, checking my email, planning my honeymoon. I’m a bad socializer, especially on the clock. I like to keep my slacking to myself.

Today’s lunch was too much. After eating about half of the world’s most oversized tostada, I wasn’t in the mood to yuck it up with flaccid work chat. It’s gorgeous outside today, like a summer preview in March, and I was feeling way too full and especially restless.

No one would get up. I walked around the block twice, and then I walked about six blocks back to work before everyone finally left the restaurant and picked my up. I guess I’m rude. But I’m not into jerking off just for the sake of filling in those 40 blank hours of the work week. I’d rather just go home and use the time in my own way. That’s not the kind of pretend I like to play.