In Da FaceGood Morning Peeps and Peepettes!  The Waltdog has been back on the road this week.  How freaking depressing. 

I didn’t realize how quickly it would happen, but I miss the pitter-patter of little feet running down the hallway.  I miss the gentle chanting of the word “Daddy!” as my oldest is looking for me when I am on the hopper, as if I was a conquering Gladiator. 

You miss the simple things when you are on the road, like having the TV guide menu memorized for your favorite channels.  This kind of life is getting old fast. 

So I was cruising up to White Plains, NY yesterday, thinking of ways to freaking call out of work.  I used to be able to depend on a few snow storms to get me off the hook; those are few and far between. 

I started my drive at 5AM, getting up about 4:30AM to shower and shave and by the time I got to the client, I was already exhausted. 

So what does my manager do?  She schedules an all-hands meeting at 6:30PM.  I wanted to rip off the stretched-out elastic off of my boxer-briefs and wrap it around my throat and just end it! 

After our hands on meeting, the team suggests a team dinner!  Yeppie!  How awesome is that?  I just spent the past 12 hours locked in a closet with these people and now I get to spend my evening with them as well!

I really just wanted to get Taco Bell, head back to my room, put on my pajamas and slippers and snuggle up with my six pack of soft tacos and watch NOTORIOUS on HBO. 

That didn’t happen.  I really needed a sign from God. 

You ask and you shall receive

Now, here are the criteria for signs that you shouldn’t go to work.  They cannot be self inflicted, meaning that if you go out for wing night and demolish 48 suicide wings and whack three pitchers of beer and the next morning you are sitting on the bus fighting through the cold sweats and holding off the explosive diarrhea, that is not a sign from God that you should go to work. 

The fact that you get off of the bus, squeezing your butt cheeks together; praying that you do not shit yourself on the three block walk from the bus stop to work is not a sign from God.  That is a sign of self infliction. 

I am not talking about sitting up all night watching a Jersey Shore Marathon until three in the morning causing you to get only two hours of sleep, so you wake up exhausted in the morning.  Causing you to haphazardly get dressed and show up to work with two different colored shoes on. 

That is not a sign from God; that is a sign of stupidity.  Unfortunately both things happened to Walt more than once. 

Here is what I am talking about:

I am talking about you wake up feeling fine; nothing is the matter with you.  You just have the normal Monday-Friday blues of not wanting to do shit and you PRAY to God for a sign to call out of work. 

It is February and you get yourself all dolled up for work.  You put on that extra layer of clothes for wind support at the bus stop.  You patiently wait at the bus stop with the other work drones and you look up and down the street for signs of the inevitable bus showing up. 

The bus appears over the horizon and you get that stomach ache caused from the fact that you are about to embark on that terrible journey to work. 

You reach into your pocket for your token or exact change, and pat around, frantically searching for the money or token, to no avail.

You forgot them.  You look around at the other drones and they actually seem jealous.   They know what is about to happen and they wished it happened to them.  You smile at them as they get on the bus to hell and you turn around. 

You have to walk the four blocks home (in the cold) to retrieve your wallet and tokens and you notice your wallet and security badge sitting on top of the television set, next to your little bag of tokens. 

That is a sign from God to stay home. 
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Here is a quick one.  You stroll to the bus stop, thinking about all the shit you have to do that day and you can hear in the distance the bus rumbling towards your stop.  You pick up your pace to a slow jog, then a fast past retarded run and your computer bag wasn’t zipped up all the way and your stuff goes flying every where.

That is a sign from God, my friend. 

Or you bend over to tie your shoe and your pants split.  Amen! 

Even the best have bad days

Here is the most critical one.  You don’t take public transportation.  You enjoy a nice drive commute to the office, where you sit in traffic for 85 minutes to go four miles.  

You crank up the radio when Cher comes on the radio “Do you believe in life after love?” and you bob your head to the music. 

You get conscious that the cute girl in the car next to you notices you singing at the top of your lungs, so you whisper the words to yourself.  You mind your own business.

Then –

BAM!  A fucking small plane lands in the lane next to you causing you  to simultaneous shit your pants, cough and swallow your gum just as the wing misses your car door by a few inches. 

Happens every time

After a few panting breaths, you gather yourself together.  You simple pull through the toll booth, pay the toll.  Wink at the cute girl in the lane next to you.  Do a U turn, crank up Cher as loud as you can and sing at the top of your lungs “Do you believe in life after love, I can feel something inside me say, I really don't think you're strong enough, NO!”

As you pass through the toll booth on the other side, you stop, pull your pants down, remove the shit covered underwear, roll your window down and discard the turd filled underwear on the freeway. 

Amen, Lord.  I hear you calling! 

a sign from god?



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