getaway

    His wife told him that he had to go on vacation, that he was trying to do too much work and it was taking a toll on him, that he was letting wall street put too much stress on him, that he was neglecting his family and that he probably just needed a break. Besides, he had time coming to him from work and he deserved it. So the two of them went off on a little vacation, to a little island where there is nothing to do, there are no televisions, there are no telephones, there is no civilization. “The perfect getaway from the hustle and bustle of every day life,” the brochure said. And it was.

    They sat on the beach, just a few feet from the outdoor bar they got their margaritas from. It was quiet. His wife glowed in the light of the setting sun. He thought of wall street, and the work he had to do. He thought of what he had to put off doing just to go on this vacation. What about the Erickson account? Will the other clients notice he’s gone? Will the company be able to get along without him? Probably not, and he had to sit here, without telephones or even fax machines. He sat there, turning his head, looking for signs of life as he knew it.

    He barely spoke to his wife the entire time they were on vacation. He couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could think about was work, and the problems that would probably arise because of his absence. They finally left the resort. He woke up the next morning in his own bed (which was too hard), and began to wonder if the past week was all a dream. He quickly got dressed, poured a cup of coffee into his car mug, tucked his briefcase under his arm, and took off for work.

    He got to work early. He found stacks of paper on his desk, and a pile of messages on little pink slips of paper. His phone was already ringing off the hook.

    His secretary walked in ten minutes later. “Sorry about all of the work, sir,” she said.

    “That’s what I get for going on vacation,” he replied.

    “Aren’t you glad to be back?” she said sarcastically.

    “Yes, I am,” he said with a sigh.

Copyright Janet Kuypers.
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