I’ve worked at the furniture store for almost ten years. So long, that I’ve got over $200 in my retirement account. Clearly, I am just a few shifts away from being able to retire and, if I’m lucky, get a fake ID and find a nice 55+ community.
Wanting to get those shifts in quick, I agreed to work a Saturday night shift. It had been a couple of months since I worked last and one of the sales associates, who I apparently hadn’t seen for some time, walked over to say hello and asked me about my boyfriend. I advised him we broke up a few years ago.
“Playing the field are ya? Bet you’re having a great time.” “I’m no Debbie Gibson,” I told him. “I mean, I’m in the field, but I’m still waiting for the play. I stand around and yell ‘I’m wide open,’ but nobody is throwing the ball. You know what I’m saying?” “Yes, I do. Just keep playing,” he advised me.
I’ve decided to take his and Debbie’s advice and, like the customers waiting to pay for their new furniture, I’ll wait my turn, stand in line, do a little lying, have some fun and play the field.