So you know that wonderful feeling you get when Thursday’s work day ends, and you know you just have to get through Friday to get to the glorious weekend? I don’t. As you know, I dread the weekend because of all that lies in store for me: sullen teenagers, driving said sullen teenagers everywhere, staring at the list of things my wife wants me to do during my “relaxing” weekend, going out with couples I want nothing to do with, seeing a movie I don’t want to see with the couple I don’t want to be with, and then waking up Sunday for more of the same.
Well, this week was different. Not because my weekend was going to be any better than usual, but because my work week SUCKED! Worst one ever. Just wanted it to end. Was it because my boss yelled at me? No. That happens every day. A lot everyday. Used to that. It wasn’t because the beautiful Sandra from HR not only didn’t laugh at my flirtatious joke, but rolled her eyes in disgust, then said with disdain, “Real funny, Phil,” then walked away. My name’s not Phil.
No, this week sucked because Friday was “Bring Your Kids to Work Day.” My own kids. Now, talk about a Catch-22 situation. First of all, I don’t want my kids coming to my work. My work is my sanctuary. Where I escape from…well, my kids! So, bad right off the bat. Secondly, I don’t want them not to come on “Bring Your Kids to Work Day” because then everyone at work will know the truth: that my kids hate me. They don’t hate me. I know that. But they act like they do. Actually they act like they hate everything. But they’re teens. And that’s what all teens do, right? It’s just mine take it to new heights.
So anyway, this is my dilemma. Don’t want them there, need them there. But not as themselves. I need them there as smiling, loving kids. So here’s where the unreasonable demands came in. I had to promise my daughter to drop her off a block from school so her friends wouldn’t see me, I couldn’t nag her for TWO WEEKS about anything, and I was not allowed to scream profanities when she walks in and changes the channel while I’m in the middle of watching “Breaking Bad.” She’s a tough negotiator. My son said I had to let him eat peanut butter right out of the jar. He’s not the sharpest tool.
Promises were made, kids were smiling and loving at my job. I actually felt bad for them.
The ride home? Wow. That’s all I’ll say about that. But somehow we all made it through Friday. And so now, no matter what awaited me this weekend, I knew I could do it almost happily. But I’m still counting the seconds until I can get back to my sanctuary called work, safe in the knowledge that there won’t be another “Bring Your Kids to Work Day” for another year. Can’t wait.