Here we are just coming off a three-day weekend and all across this great land of ours, alarms clocks went off this morning, followed by the group slap performed by all Americans just to shut those annoying little mechanical/electronic monsters up.
But what happened next was a collection of voices all realizing that today was the first workday and they all said in a perfect unison “But I don’t wanna go to work!” Which is immediately followed by the ceremonial, and quite futile mind you, pulling the covers over their collective blunt skulls.
What is it about going back to work after a three-day weekend? Have our bodies gotten so used to relaxing that going back to work for the Mega Corporation makes us wish for something less stressful like say the Spanish Inquisition?
Now, there are those people out there who just fly out of bed in the morning after a three day weekend and can’t wait to get to work. These type of people can be neatly divided into a three separate but distinct categories.
First of all, there are the insane. We have no idea why these people do strange things like this. People like the insane not only can’t wait to get to work, but they are extremely cheerful in the mornings yet they don’t drink coffee. Other characteristics of these brain damaged people are: They have always cleaned their plates, they ran for student body president while in high school and have, at one point in their lives, suffered a massive amount of blunt trauma to their individual skulls. Scientist and Sociologist alike are still baffled why this small category of people have not been killed off by the remaining members of society.
Then there are those who have a really lousy home life and work is their escape from the horrors that go on under their own roof. Things like: Their Mother-In-Lives with them and she makes the mother from Throw Mama From The Train look like Mother Teresa on Valium. They have adult kids who live at home, refuse to move out, get a job and are waiting for their fairy godfather (i.e. Bernie Sanders) to give them their six-figure income in a corner office with 52 weeks of sick days and 12 months of vacation a year. Or they could just live next door to a garage band called The Insomniacs who live up to their name by playing music all night long that sounds remarkably like seagulls being cross bred to sheep.
Finally, there are those that really love what they do for a living. If you ask them, they really do not work for a living, they play, they have fun, they get to do things at work that they are not allowed to do at home. These kinds of people can be actually described by their occupations: They are either Professional Athletes, Circus Clowns with a Chemical Dependency Problem and then there are Explosive Experts.
But for most of us, the idea of getting out of bed and going to work after a relaxing, and somewhat hazy of memory, three day weekend is not something that we all look forward to doing. We like the idea of living the life of leisure that we all read about of those with actual money in their bank accounts get to do. We like the idea of not having someone tell us how we should do things or how much of a bane on humanity our exitance is to society (Now, if your mother in law stayed the weekend at your place, then you were out of luck). We like the idea of doing things or not doing things, on our own schedule and in our own way. And we especially like the idea of flipping a coin that will determine if we will be wearing pants around the house today or not.
And yet, here we are. We are at work. Our weekend is nothing more than a fleeting memory. It went by way too fast and we are already thinking towards the weekend and we just clocked in 5 minutes ago. Gone is the fun. Gone is the freedom. Gone is the option of not having to wear pants for a 24 hour time period. The vast portion of Americans are slaving away for The Mega Corporation in either in their Cubicles of Boredom, or their Check Stand of Redundancy or maybe they are working outside in the elements, hoping and praying that this little Orange Traffic Cone is really as magical as upper management says it is so that it can protect them from getting ran over by one of those insanely happy people that just can’t wait to get to work.