Are The New Interns Trying To Destroy My Way Of Life?

Riggs6/01/2018 2:15 PM

Yesterday we held the Barstool Spelling Bee. I was the no. 2 betting favorite until it was revealed I wouldn’t be participating. In an unfortunate conflict of timing, I had to miss to catch a flight to Chicago for a family and buddies trip — an opportunity, FINALLY, to get out of the office and swing the sticks for a day or two.

Now look, you don’t earn the name Boondoggle Boy without knowing precisely how to slip out of the office. I’ve been committed to the boondoggle game since well before my Barstool days. The key is you can’t telegraph what you’re doing. You have to be sneaky, creative, invisible. When I boondoggle I do it meticulously.

I arrive to the office before any of the adults so by 10:30. I bring with me my golf clubs and duffle bag but not up into the office like a dumbass. I hide them in the staircase behind a vacuum and some big mat that couldn’t possibly serve a utilitarian purpose other than hiding my golf clubs. I may have bought it myself and forgot. Impossible to tell.

I hide my shit then scurry up to the office and go about my day. Business as usual. When the time comes, I order an Uber and then carefully carry out my escape. I grab my computer (keeping it open, very important so it appears you’re going to show someone something on your screen for work purposes) and I head to the staircase. I cruise down towards the 2nd floor like I have a crucial business discussion with one of the nerds, but instead of peeling off at floor two, I MOTOR my ass down to the bottom where my bags await. I close my laptop, toss it in my bag, then walk right out the front door. Duffle over my shoulder and clubs rolling behind me, I hop into the Uber and poof — I’m gone.

But not yesterday. Yesterday I ordered the Uber and then shit got weird. As soon as I unplugged and picked up my computer (keeping it open), some Hubbs-like kid but with a little hobbit in him came over and told me he saw my bags in the staircase so he moved them upstairs.

What? This is where he moved them to.

It’s literally impossible to put my shit in a worse spot. Look at how many fucking people are around. Imagine the attention me grabbing those clubs and waiting for an elevator would draw. Oh not to mention my clubs were staring my boss Dave Portnoy’s office in the eyeballs.

Take the exact center of Dave’s vision from his desk and that’s where this moron put my clubs. Know less about the real world dude. You can’t. Who sees travel bags hiding in the staircase and moves them up two flights to the epicenter of problems in the office? I mean I essentially have to drag my clubs across Dave’s desk to leave at this point.

So the Uber arrived and I was nowhere near ready for departure. Whole plan was wrenched so I sat at my desk pretending to be busy. I looked frustrated, the ol’ Costanza. The Uber called. I ignored. The Uber called. I ignored.

Was Dave in his office? Could I drag my clubs down the staircase? Is Erika in the staircase? What’s that fucking intern’s name?

My brain was spinning.

Then, magically, Dave sauntered out of his office and into the radio studio. He was doing radio and the Spelling Bee at the same time?

Whatever, this was our shot. I scurried over, hit the elevator button, then rolled my bag under this desk to make it undetectable from across the office.