Day Off

Two kids crouch behind cars next to Building Five, looking sneaky. Around the corner, a third little guy leans up against a tree, his lips moving furiously while he tries to count to 100 in less than ten seconds.

I roll down my window and slow beside the building. "Hey kid! They're hiding in the parking lot!" The two boys behind the cars pop up looking startled, and the counting one has to start all over, since my shout made him lose his place.

It's my day off, and on my day off I don't have to be nice to kids. Isn't that right?

Late in the afternoon, when schools are out for the day, I run to the mall. Before any kids get there to play with them, I carefully take the batteries out of all the singing and talking toys and leave them, silent and lame, on the shelves.

On my way home, when I pass the high school, I wonder if I could hack into the programming for the digital message board that's outside and make it display the bottom ten students' names and GPAs. This is probably a little advanced for one day off.

There's a tree in the park that grows over the most popular picnic spot for families with small children, and sure enough, there is a man selling balloons there today. When he walks away to take a phone call, I shimmy up the tree and wait in the lower branches with a sharp stick, hidden by the leaves. Every time a child points to a balloon, I reach carefully out with the stick and pop it.

As the police are leading me toward their car to have a little talk, I protest "But it's my day off!" They nod understandingly and let me go. That's how days off work, of course.

The main difference between a job and a calling is, I think, that I am willing to keep on being called even when I'm not working.