If today's column isn't perfect, it's not from a lack of time to write it. Today my duty at The Construction Company™ - which pays me handsomely - is to sit in a chair and do absolutely nothing for eight hours. No, really. That's it.
I sit in a comfy chair, read the newspaper, and drink Mountain Dew. This is even better than when I worked at Kohl's in college, and all any of us did was hide from customers in the storeroom.
Demolition workers at the hotel we're renovating are transporting debris through a public area of the building, which means they need someone to make sure the area stays clean. That someone is me. That means I sit in a chair and get up once every 15 minutes to sweep an 8x8 foot area of the floor.
I get to do this, and only this, for the next three days.
It's not even read debris. It's all just microscopic dust that nobody in their right mind would notice. It took nearly two hours before a legitimate piece of debris touched the floor, and that was only because I asked one of the demolition guys to put it there so I could say I cleaned something that wasn't imaginary.
My only real task is keeping the Gargantuan Woman at the hotel from getting hurt. Or hurting others. About twelve times every hour, a woman the size of a lactating whale waddles past the area to ogle the larger, stronger construction workers. I have to keep her from bothering, touching, or brutally raping them. But like a sheep dog trying to corral an 800-pound hippopotamus, it's difficult.
Quick fact! You can tell a "lactating whale" by its tethered and misshapen whale boobies.
I just got paid $26 per hour to formulate a paragraph about whale boobies. Life is sweet.
Aw cripes. Hold on. The woman who looks like she consumes dumpsters of congealed lard for breakfast is back. Damn that blue ribbon hog of a woman! Damn her to hell!
Okay, I'm back. Typically, once I'm able to distract her with cups of pudding, she goes away for a while. This is when the boredom sets in. I don't care how much I'm getting paid, being forced to sit in a chair for eight hours is torture. Each day seems to last 20 hours.
I hope this company has a worker ready to replace me. I may suffocate myself with fiberglass insulation by the end of the third day. Seriously, why do I even take breaks during this assignment? When I'm working, I sit in a comfy chair drinking Mountain Dew. When it's break time, I walk up two flights of stairs just to sit in a less comfortable folding chair and drink Mountain Dew. It's madness, I tell you. Madness!
I think the other laborers are jealous of my easy assignment, and are plotting against me. They keep stopping to stare and snicker at me as I sit here bored. I suspect they may eventually throw me in a dumpster and cover me with asbestos. But I have my secret weapon: that oversized beanbag chair of a woman who ogles them.
Just try it, punks. I'll unleash 375-pounds of female blubber and sexual frustration on you.
Stand back, reader. This may get ugly.
