Every time I try to be a “team player” and attend one of these accursed company picnics, I regret it. We are currently being lobbied to attend this year’s outing, and I’m damned if I’m going through this again.
Here’s a realistic list of the festivities:
- Try to find some shade in a blistering hot, airless picnic ground.
- Choose from between incinerated hot dogs or dry-as-cotton chicken breasts.
- Eat your lunch at a dead run to avoid the attention of meat hornets.
- Explain twenty or thirty times over that you are not interested in playing softball. I’m a fifty-year-old chubby woman, do you think I’d like to play a sport against twenty-something young men? Nope. Ain’t gonna happen.
- Subtly edge behind a tree while folks are watching softball, then sprint to your car and leave, turning on air conditioning full blast in hopes of circumventing heat stroke.
Yes, I’m getting crabby in my middle age, why do you ask?