Mr. Cellophane

In a location adjacent to a place in a city of some significance, what comes out of my head is plastered on the walls of this blog.

Sunday, July 07, 2013

[What title?]

July 17th, 8:33am

It hasn't been easy these last couple weeks, keeping my happiness on the inside as opposed to shouting from the rooftops.

The plane ride is comped. The hotel...comped.

Now, all I need is a way out of my responsibilities.

I dial on my phone. I work up my best phlegmmy voice.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"It's me. I caught something. I don't think I'm gonna be able to come in the next few days."

"We really need you around the store."

"Yeah, but I'm coughing up all kinds of crap." I gulp and mime a bit of the ol' cookie toss. I top it off with a couple of coughs.

"Ugh. Well, okay. Hope you feel better."

"Me too. Goodbye."

I hang up. Will I get caught? Probably, but why should that matter? I'm practically tenured, anyway.

Oh, God, I cannot wait.



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