Dodging Responsibility

I took the kids to the gym last Friday for some free time activities.  They get to earn a break for being good little boys and girls every day.  It is the only hope I have of ever getting any education squeezed into the equation.  

While they played what can only be described as a "killer" game of dodge ball, I leaned against the gymnasium wall and tried to remain awake.  I also tried to not look too closely at the game in progress since the velocity of the foam balls being thrown was probably lethal.  I didn't want to be considered an accessory should anything go wrong.  I wanted to be able to claim complete innocence.  

Plus when I told them they were throwing the ball too hard, they laughed at me.  Even the kids who were getting hit chuckled.  I believe the word, "wimp" may have been bandied about, but I can't really be certain...

In order that I might divert my attention from the Middle School Dodge Ball Death Match being played out before mine own eyes, I began chatting with a few of the other adults in the room.  We don't know each other all that well and we all clearly have different interests, abilities and personalities.  But there was one thing upon which we could all agree without reservation:

This whole five-day-work-week thing is for the birds.  

You don't give people umpty-bazillion snow days and a week of vacation then expect them to not see the flaws in full time scheduling.  We begin to realize that five straight days of working in a row is simply unacceptable.  We do not like it.  We do not like it one little bit.  

Then a wildly thrown dodge ball came careening at us and we had to scatter for our very lives.  By the time order was restored and all involved were reeducated on the solemn and sacred rules of dodge ball (the first of which is: Don't Hit The Teachers Because They Are In Charge Of The Balls), the conversation had lost some of its rhythm.  We went back to being People Who Just Work In The Same Building.

The camaraderie may have been lost, but the gist of the conversation was not.  I was planning to cancel my doctor's appointment for tomorrow.  I thought it might be better to wait until the last paycheck of the month to start tossing money around like a sultan and behave more like someone who is rolling quarters to pay for gas.  (All is well.  I just paid off a few bills while I had the means to do so recently because that is what responsible people do, I'm told)  I further thought it might be nice to wait another month to see if I could maybe shed some of the pounds created by those Valentine's Candy Sales.  The nice nurse who never weighs me wasn't there the last time I went in and who knows if the new nurse will be as kind.

But then I remembered the Pre-Dodge Ball Assault Conversation.  I worked for five days in a row last week and I did not like it.  My teaching contract will never make me rich, but I do have pretty good insurance, a low co-pay and more sick days than I know what to do with.  I have used very few this year and have many, many more left over from all those other years I didn't use them.

I'm going to surrender my $15.00 in the interest of a shorter work week and will tell the nurse that she can't weigh me because it is against my religion.  (I'll work out the details as I go along...it should be fine)  I'm using a sick day for my doctor's appointment.  It's an early appointment, too.  I'll have the whole day to do as I please.  I will also take notes because I think that I can come up with a pretty convincing argument for a four day work week.  I wonder how I will spend this glorious day of "pretend retirement?"  Napping?  Watching television?  Reading quality fiction?  Watching zombie movies?

Ahem.  You will be knitting a sock.  And dispensing treats.  You only think you are the boss.

Or I'll be sock knitting and treat dispensing.  Whatever.  At least I'll be doing it from home...

SA