Sticks and Stoned









Bubba Kush - Indica

With the unemployment rate above 10% in half the states, some may find it interesting to know that Mezz0 isn't the only one daydreaming about getting laid off. I too have grown increasingly impatient with our company's bizarre managerial bureaucracy and the suburban scenery. My impatience has grown even worse now that I have a tentative plan to move to California sometime in the first fiscal quarter of 2010. In the meantime, I am faced with the stark reality of another bleak midwest winter working this bleak, meaningless job. At least I have some Bubba Kush.















In an effort to make sure that I'm somewhere near the top of the list if/when we have another round of layoffs before next year, I have started making a sport out of minimizing number of minutes that I work in a given day and seeing how much of my work I can convince my manager to willingly do without having to directly ask her. I'm hoping it will make a difference. Nothing would make moving to a new state easier than receiving a severance package and an unemployment check or two.

As a part of my "work-free workday" last week I waited until 15 minutes before quitting time to take care of that day's tasks. I had forgotten about one thing, though, and had to stay an extra 20 minutes to finish up. I didn't get out of the office until about 5:30. VP's tend to stay late every day, and I noticed one walking away from our building as I approached a parking lot intersection in my car.

"Shit," I thought, "The last thing I need is for him to think I'm putting in extra effort."

I ducked my head slightly and scratched my eyebrow, hoping to obscure my face from his view. I feared that he still may have seen me, so I lowered my windows and cranked up Rage Against the Machine's first album as I chirped out onto the city streets--praying that he'd at least view me as a disrespectful prick.


















For me, the downside of making plans to move and setting a time line like this is that I tend to see the interim period as a sort of a prison sentence. I am only doing time...showing up, putting in the hours, going home, having a beer/smoking a joint/watching TV/playing poker/playing video games/watching a movie/listening to music. Sleep, repeat, change scenery on the weekends and vacations.

Regardless of how similar this routine is to what I would plan on doing anywhere else in the world, my schedule takes on a dark, uninspired quality in my mind's eye during these pre-transitional periods. I was feeling bored...my highway driving was getting more aggressive and reckless. My need for a thrill or adrenaline rush or new stimulus of some sort seemed to be manifesting itself in dangerous ways.

That's why I joined up with a men's league hockey team (tastefully known as the Soggy Biscuits) a few weeks ago. Nothing satisfies the psyche more than inflicting pain and humiliation on people who are trying to do the same to you. Hell, even if we end up losing a few games, the thrill of getting knocked down to the ice in front of the net without a mask or shield on your helmet--just as your defenseman unleashes a slapshot-- is truly exhilarating. We won our first two games by 5 goals or more. I remained scoreless due to my sub par conditioning, rusty skills, general lack of arm strength, and willingness to play on defense.


















Last night's game, I was playing forward against our most challenging opponent yet. I showed up a little baked and a little late from my pregame weed-nap, but my haze disappeared quickly and I managed to get into the action after a shift or two. Late in the second, I was trailing the play into the offensive zone and picked up the puck just as the play was broken up. I took a shot immediately, despite the rolling puck, and ended up with a faltering, lengthy, pathetic shot on goal--an easy save. Our opponents had an amazing goalie, as proved by more skilled players on our team, and despite our dominating performance, the score was tied at zero going into the third period.

I was consoled by a teammate after returning to the bench due to the shitty ice and rolling puck, but I took stock and realized that most of my shots have been coming from the tops of the circles without any power behind them.

I tried to think through a solution. I imagined myself getting the puck again, only taking three quick strides towards the goal, faking a pass across ice, and shooting the puck mid stride to the opposite side of the net as the goalie shifted to anticipate the pass.













Midway through the third, the player who was consoling me earlier passed me the puck as we broke into the offensive zone. I took three quick strides towards the opposite post, spotted a teammate across ice, changed my hand positioning to make it look like I was passing it to him--slightly behind me--then midway through the pass I pivoted and sent the puck across my body to the opposite side of the net. The goalie helplessly slid across the crease as the puck hit the netting on the opposite side of the net.

Goal!

In a fit of panicked embarrassment, an opposing player blurted out, "Nice shot..."

"Fuck you," I snarled, "I'll eat your fucking babies."

We went on to win 3-0 and are undefeated in our first three games.

The point of all this? I dunno, maybe it's the fact that the goal I scored last night was far more satisfying, challenging, and fun than anything I've done at work for the last 3 years.

Shit, speaking of which, I gotta get out of here before people start thinking I'm working late again.