I just read somewhere that the week after Labor Day is known by bosses as “Get back to work” week.
Apparently, they think their minions do nothing over the summer but come to work so they can go to Starbucks with co-workers and buy an iced venti triple-shot, no-foam, no-fat latte with powdered vanilla stirred in, all the while talking about the cute coral sandals they bought at Nordstrom Rack, which really show off their pedi, which was done in TaoBoy Turquoise. Which, by the way, is the cutest polish name everrrrr.
I wouldn’t know anything about that. That’s because in the news business, there are no holidays and there is no slacking off. Except for that one time the boss came up to the guy in the cubicle across from mine and asked why he wasn’t working. “Because I didn’t see you coming,” he replied.
Oh, and there was the time that someone was admonished for playing the Partridge Family song Come On Get Happy over the speaker system when the new station owners were in for a visit. (But this place was in serious need of an attitude adjustment. I mean, that’s what I was told.)
So, now that I’m self-employed, I don’t have to worry about anyone coming up behind me to spy on me to see if I’m misspelling any of my Words with Friends as I sip my “Not Quite Seattle’s Best” coffee I picked up at the dollar store. I’ve also found that an old bottle of Wite-Out makes a decent French manicure, but it’s nowhere near as striking as TaoBoy Turquoise.
Oh, I have my share of interruptions. The dogs need to go out and back in and out again and back in again. The cat needs to be fed four times a day, and the bird needs to be put in another part of the house for a timeout.
If you ever get a parrot, for the love of God, don’t let anyone teach it to say, “I’m sexy and I know it.” It may be funny at first, but like a circus clown, a little goes a very long way.
In case you haven’t figured it out, the hardest part from working at home for me is, well, pretty much all of it.
I’ve always said that I have ADD in HD, so it’s a chore to force myself to sit down and write these columns. I’ve been this way pretty much my whole life, starting with nap time in kindergarten when I’d roll myself up in my little rag rug and pretend that I was a talking caterpillar. Principals and young teachers who would sneak a swig of “nerve tonic” from their desks did not think this was funny, no matter how much tonic they took.
I do a Minute With Robin on a local radio station five days a week. I’m sure you’re thinking that waxing philosophical about a deeply insightful and thoughtful topic for one minute is nothing, but it’s really hard.
For example “Mean people stink” only takes a second to say. Now what to do I do with the other 59? Get the bird out of the closet to say, “I’m sexy and I know it?” roughly 32 times? Of course not.
On the other hand, if I expound upon the topic of mean people and why I think they should all go live in New Jersey, that generally takes more than a minute. I find myself Googling facts about New Jersey and discover that there are about 1,200 persons per square mile, making it the most populated state in the country. I think to myself, this explains why they’re so mean. It does not, however, explain Jersey Shore.
Now that I’m thinking about Jersey Shore, I realize that Labor Day is over and that means I have to hide my husband’s white shoes and belt, which should never have come out of hiding in the first place. (And please don’t give me “That’s so old-fashioned. You can wear white any time of the year.” This does not apply to men unless you were born Pat Boone.)
Which leads me back to the original topic of “Get Back To Work Week.” I’m thinking maybe I should get back into the work force. I think I need the discipline. And some good coffee.
Robin Swoboda’s column runs every other week. Contact her at Robinswoboda@outlook.com.