...Or Hardly Working?

You'd think that with the house to myself all week I'd be getting even more things done, or have slobbed out into a totally unwound vegetable... whatever that might be. Yet neither's the case; the long drive to/from work's been easier, and even the load on me once I'm there is substantially lighter (I'll probably get to that next weekend, though).

But most of this week at home, I've been putting away stamps, and online just cleaning up older blog-entries where WordPress horridly chopped up lines. Ah, downtime...Plus I've been looking in on sister Mew's home, since she and husband and kids are busy turning lobster-red ─ with one of my daughters, and my mother ─ in the North Carolina sands.

And it's certainly been quieter around the office with both Ben and Jerry ─ no, that's ice cream; I mean Ben and Hugo ─ gone. Ben hit the road at the beginning of the month, and Hugo followed last week. So the pun-audience just isn't the same: Ben and I to shamelessly encourage each other, and Hugo to stomp us back down.

So let's look back at some of our exchanges, yes?

Item 1: I was working loudly in one of our metal file-cabinets one morning, converting it from storage to file-holding, and installing a heavy metal bar (Hey, is that where all the drunks listen to Twisted Sister?) for the metal hooks on our hanging files to, well, hook onto.

At the continued racket, Ben called from his cubicle: "If you're having trouble with your drawers, get a belt."

Picturing a cold, full shotglass, I answered, "Not this early in the day; that would leave me comatose." And finished up on the cabinet.

Then I popped my head into Ben's cubicle and explained further, "Look; you must think I'm married to my drawers, but I'm not; it's my pants. Why, I grabbed hold of them this morning" (here I gripped the top of my slacks and tugged firmly upward) "and said to them, ‘Let's get hitched'!"

Item 2: Among my many other responsibilities there, every Thursday I consolidate employees' summaries of activity, and statistics of particular duties, and submit this compilation to the Director. He polishes it up, sets it on Simmer, stirs a bit, then forwards it to his boss (one of our VPs) and back to us. Unavoidably, this weekly activity report is called a WAR ─ a genuine acronym, like SCUBA, LASER, RADAR, and so on.

Ben was notorious with me for never, never, never submitting anything to me. Week after week I'd pester him ─ respectfully, since he was a semi-boss. One Thursday, as he was walking past my desk, I made the mistake of asking: "How's that WAR coming along, Ben?"

He stopped and explained cheerfully, "Fighting in Anbar province has gone down, but trouble continues in Baghdad. There have been roadside bombs..."

"Even though it's still Spring," I interrupted with a grumble, "I'll take that as your summery."

Ben snorted. "I'm not going to Fall for that," he riposted.

I moaned, "Oh, the Winter of my discontent! That's it; I'm calling Frankie Valli!"

Item 3: Hugo wandered into Ben's cubicle and plopped himself down heavily in one of Ben's guest-chairs. "Oy."

Ben answered him: "Later today."

Hugo: "What?"

Ben: "I'll try to have it to you later today." I hadn't the slightest idea what they were talking about.

Hugo growled firmly, "No ─ there is no ‘try'! I can take your cubicle apart." He got up and walked away, passing my desk.

I pointed out ─ quoting The Empire Strikes Back: "You sound like Yoda ─ ‘Do, or do not; there is no try'."

Hugo dismissed the reference. "No. Yoda is nice. I am not."