What loser forgets to take Grand Final day off work? Unfortunately, I know only one fool lame enough to let that most hallowed day in September slip through their fingers; I refer of course, to the loser typing this post.
Yes, after taking Saturday night off for the past few weeks, the probability of securing a day in the sun with the time honoured Aussie tradition of snags n’ beers in between kicks of the pig’s skin were sorrowfully slim to none. Now, I don’t even like the Aussie Rules, but given a few drinks and let’s say three sausages, I’m yelling for holding the ball and dropping the C-Bomb at the pixilated umpire like any other hot-blooded, testosterone-filled male.
Serving maybe six people at best, during the sunshine hours of work, I quickly slipped into a mass depression as every customer came to see The Devil Wears Prada – mostly mothers with their daughters or gay couples; I guess most of the “blokes” planned ahead a saw the movie before the big game – while I sat forlornly staring out of the window at the merriment of the people playing and having an all-round goodtime (we don’t have any windows at work, so I spent most of the day starring at the ventilation ducts planning my escape). The only reprieve from the dreary white walls of work came on the cover of the Age’s Weekender.
Reaching a point where any distraction was welcomed, an animated Tim Robbins made his way around the facilities in a modest attempt to cheer me up.
A cheeky Daisy gets some time alone with an Academy Award winner.
Hannah giggles at Tim's persistent advances.
A surprised Tim nervously eyes Bonnie as the lioness prepares to pounce.
A wandering Tim finds a surprised Rita (note the expression of Renae who can't believe her luck at meeting her favourite actor)
Tim did bring a little sunshine into an otherwise grey day, but I think next year I'll just take the day off in advance.
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