Kati Cawley’s Day Off

So we’re finally out of that awful winter deep freeze.  The girls are out, the sun is shining, the last thing anyone wants to do is work, right?  It’s time for a little fun, and we all deserve it.  That’s why I decided to play hooky and really enjoy the world around me, outside the confines of a cubicle.  But of course I still wore the business casual, I mean, it’s sort of a part of you now, isn’t it?

Wake up early, shoot off an email to the boss claiming incurable bird flu, erectile dysfunction and mild Ebola with an assurance of my return the following day.  Put my suit on (fine, really a sundress) and head out to my favorite deli, where the customers are ancient, the wait staff is crazy, and the corned beef hash is hotter than any Smokeshow we’ve had.  Make a few friends, get a few phone numbers, but there isn’t any time to waste, because the next stop is not to be missed: the Bass Pro Shop at Patriots Place.

The best thing about this store, if you want to call it a store as much as a way of life, is that everyone who works there loves it there.  They put you in such a great mood.  I guess I would be happy, too; you can get a beer, fried alligator, and loaded rifles all in one spot.  If you didn’t have to wear pants, the place would be pretty damn close to heaven.  I wander around for a while, admiring the turtle pond and the pork rinds, and make a few purchases (watermelon licorice and beef jerky, sigh) to bring to my next destination, the Final Frontier.  The beach.

For about a hundred years my family has owned a great little house on the water, complete with three porches, an outdoor shower, and easy access to Slush Puppies (seriously, they taste like gasoline, but it’s worth it).  Drive down, park, and get my bearings.  This of course means buying a six-or-fine-twelve-pack of Pete’s Wicked Strawberry Blonde and some Wachusett chips and settling down in my old-man chair to enjoy the sun, surf and more elderly women (do we sense a pattern here?).  I send many taunting text messages to my friends, extolling the benefits of being a degenerate and receiving multiple death threats in return.  No matter, I’ve got my booze, I’ve got my babes, and I’ve got vintage Saw Doctors on a tape deck I scrounged from the garage.  Life is good.

Sunburn drives me back inside where I meet up with my traveling companion, who enjoys long walks on the beach, fishing, and more beer, so things are going well.  The one bar in town boasts a new feature: live entertainment until 9 PM.  Throw some flip flops on and rush down the beach, which is faster than taking the street, and arrive just in time to hear “Wish You Were Here” on acoustic guitar, sung by a guy so cool you just kind of want to tell everyone he is your friend and invite him to the bar with you after the set is over.  Which we end up chickening out on, as we’ll probably be back next week and don’t want to look like losers. 

Set is over, time for dinner at a restaurant with a patio right on the water.  A few more beers, a few high fives, and some crab cakes.  Going to bars in towns as opposed to “in town” really lends itself to insane camaraderie, don’t you think?  Can’t really beat it.  Hang out for a bit longer before it’s time to go home and pass out.  There’s only so much fun one person can take in a day, right?  Besides, this is my ninth sick day this semester.  It's pretty tough coming up with new illnesses. If I go for ten, I'm probably going to have to barf up a lung, so I’m glad I made this one count.