Slow Learner

You know in Office Space, where the Mullet next door doesn't understand why our hero can't duck working Saturday? Just cut out fifteen minutes early, right?

Folk wisdom I guess. Same guy who points out that you don't need a million dollars to do 'nothing.' Look at my brother, he's broke and don't do shit.

So anyway, I had my evening all lined up. I've gone to a chiropractor the past couple years, and the adjustments probably do me some good but the massage therapy part is what really works. Some of my chronic back pain has gone away since I quit taking Zetia, a cholesterol lowering drug I took for a couple years without knowing that bad muscle pain the back can be a side effect. I wondered aloud, many times, what the hell I had done to my back this time, but apparently it was lifting a tiny pill to my mouth.

So I don't go as often as I once did, but I do go. And as my pain tends to be muscular rather than skeletal, and as there's not really any such thing as a 'subluxation,' the massage is the work horse.

And I have an awesome massage therapist. She comes as close to hurting me as you can get without falling in and it makes me want to marry her. And if you're wondering, yes she's cute. Model looks, actually, but I only see her on the way in and out of the room, so that's not the deal. She could look like a cave troll. In fact, when I can't have her, there's a guy there who is three times her size and almost as strong, he's my second choice. If I can't have one of them, I reschedule, as the other massage therapists at this office have proven too gentle to be therapeutic.

So anyway, I had a bonus on the schedule tonight. A postcard I got for my birthday for a complimentary 30 minute massage. That I can tack on to the one my insurance covers, making an hour of quality time with my therapist.

An hour on her table could cure cancer, I'm pretty sure. At least if it's cancer of the trapezius.

And like I say, I've been running a few deliveries for my employer lately. And there was a delivery to be made about four miles from my house, so we worked it out where I'd finish the day with a short delivery run that would end there. I'd take the company van home and bring it back when I come to work tomorrow. It's a perfect plan because otherwise I have to leave earlier for the delivery run and drive all the way back to the office only to drive all the way back home again.

I made my last delivery and was just about to my chiropractor's office when the company phone started ringing.

I almost didn't answer it. This is were the slow learner part comes in. If I'd listened to my inner Larry Mullethead, I would not have answered the phone. I had trapezius cancer to cure, after all. And my traps were actually pretty freakin' achy.

I answer the phone, though, and discover that they're top-coating the parking lot and my car is in the way. With no way for anyone to move it. And it sounds like the assheads working the project will actually try to schlep sealant on the pavement under my car even if it stays there, meaning I'll have that nasty shit all over my white car. Though in retrospect, we'd probably have just ended up with a bald parking spot, and since my boss had okayed the original plan where I didn't drive an extra 70 miles, it should have just been his problem.

So I had to go all the way back to the office to get my car because I'm too stupid to ignore a phone when I should clearly be off duty. I guess I'll go watch Office Space again and see what other lessons I've failed to assimilate.