Just in case they were off a day or two on the whole end of the world thing, I spent most of the weekend in my bunker, wearing my level 4 biohazard suit and cradling my AR-15 assault rifle (complete with a 100 round drum). Except for when I had to go out and plow the driveway. It appears that the coast is clear, however, and we’ve avoided yet another untimely end. I guess we should probably thank Pat Robertson – he no doubt prayed his ass off (which, given the size of his ass, is a lot pf praying). So there was no alternative but to get up and go to work.
The bad news is it’s Monday. The good news is tomorrow’s Christmas, so I don’t have to go to work, and I hear they may let me go at like 2:00, once the clinics close. Unfortunately, I have to come right back in to work on Wednesday, which also happens to be stupid meeting day. I’m hoping we aren’t actually gonna meet, ‘cuz at least a couple of us aren’t going to be here. Although I don’t think I’ll actually do anything for Christmas (and will barely notice it, other that to be happy to have the day off), there’s still something really depressing about having to come to work the day after. They really ought to make it a Thursday/Friday holiday or something.
Oh well, I guess I’ll try and be really, really good today, so maybe Santa will give me a pass on the other 364 days this year and bring me a present. Though how he’ll get down the chimney is beyond me. I mean, there was barely enough room to shove a 4″ flex pipe down there for my pellet stove, I don’t know how a fat guy’s getting down there (not even naked and greased up, let alone wearing a suit).