I Hate Pickles–The Baseball Game Kind, Not The Sandwich Kind.

I need an escape plan.  Apparently,  telling people that I occasionally play trumpet is coworker-speak for “Please oh please let me play for everyone at work but don’t tell me until the day before because prior notice is just not how I roll.”  This is how I got volunteered to play for a company ‘talent show’ tomorrow night.  Awesome.

The other thing that makes it a bit of an awkward situation is that recently, the event “Playing Trumpet” is more accurately described as “making loud noise on a trumpet that is supposed to be an accompaniment to the song blaring on my iPod after the consumption of copious amounts of red wine,” which, of course, would probably result in me having a status change in the employment department.  

I know, “You could just say no.”  Well, if you know me at all, that’s clearly not an option.  In fact, not being able to say no to people is how I have made most of my life decisions.  Or, rather, how I have gotten into situations that most people would respond to with an approperiate “WTF?”  But I digress…

Yes, I could just tell them the truth.  But what’s the fun in that?

I was thinking that I could just tell everyone that I was “real busy,” and hope that they buy it, but they probably wouldn’t.  Because me being “real busy” at work is like George Bush talking like a “sophisticated gentleman.”  Need I say more?

The other option that I have is waiting until 5:00 tomorrow evening to take my lunch break.  While yes, Thursdays are my late-start days (I come in at 11), I think they may call my bluff since I only work until 7.  Though, I could just play it off that I have a clandestine meeting with someone involving a topic about which I could tell them but afterwards I would have to kill them.  Or perhaps I could just use sentences like the previous one in hopes of confusing them to the point where they throw their hands in the air like they just don’t care and let me be.


~ by sisypheanfeat on 22 April, 2009.

One Response to “I Hate Pickles–The Baseball Game Kind, Not The Sandwich Kind.”

  1. …. baseball game pickles? I’m so damn confused.

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