Playin’ Hooky!

Posted by admin - 23/03/13 at 02:03 pm

The dreaded alarm blares its ugly cry.
Groan.
Sigh.

A quick tilt of the head reveals that, yes, that horrid time has arrived—6:20 A.M.
Woe.
Grump.
Grumble.

If only I could snag a couple more hours, catch a few more Zs, pretend just this once that today, I don’t need to abandon this soft, snuggly blanket, that I can lounge like a cat on a ledge soaking up the sun, unhurried, luxurious.

So do it.
Who’s stopping you?
Did you peep outside in fear that the responsibility gremlins stalk your lazy, slug-of-a-self?
Close the curtains.
Shut `em out.
Fuggetaboutit’.

The three main excuses why we seldom give ourselves a break include:

1)    A puffed-up sense of importance requires my presence.  The world will end, tides cease to ebb, the sun fails to shine, bees stop buzzing if I miss one day at the shop.  (Mothers of small children ignore this one—tiny tikes may feel their universe collapse without you!)
2)    The brow-beating of guilt-slingers who wear their own unhappiness like a badge of honor torments me to such an extreme that I couldn’t possibly blow off a work day—the embarrassment, the mortification, the ignominy—no way.
3)    I don’t know how to relax anyway.

Okay, I feel the hair rising and mercury shooting up the pipe.
Chill for a sec.

If you have read this column for more than a month, you know very well that as the number one fan of Captain Discipline, I never advocate laziness in large doses or any regular pattern of sloth-like behavior.
On the other hand, we have to guard against rigidity.
Once in a while, the spontaneous child must take center stage.

I say we ought to “go on a jolly.”
In Britain, at most companies, an unwritten rule suggests that each employee shall have the right, so long as no one abuses the privilege, to “go on a jolly.”

Jollies generally originate in pubs sometime after lunch, though they could easily take the form of flower picking, a trip to the lake or whatever.
The main instigator stakes out a spot and makes it his or her business to recruit others to leave work early.
Using cell phones and pagers, jolly-goers will harass and pester their colleagues (and anyone else they can think of) until they cave and join the impromptu party.
A truly successful jolly might end up with half the office saddled up to the bar tipping a pint.

What a great idea—a little mischief that spreads.
What’s the down side, a few hours of lost productivity?
Who cares?

The British understand the benefit of an occasional romp—increased morale, a sense of camaraderie, and yes, the value of good ol’, for-no-particular-reason fun.

Let’s play more, act silly, go nuts, trade a frown for a cackle.
What might happen if you found a comfy space and started dialing?
After all, `tis the season for a jolly!

That’s A View From The Ridge…

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