It’s a love/hate relationship, that last hour of work. You love the feeling because it’s so close to being over, and yet it takes so long you start doubting it’ll ever come. But enough talk about drunk sex. The homestretch is the most important hour of work—for your sanity’s sake, that is, definitely not for your company. Because we all know that no matter how much we’re paid or dedicated we are, for that last hour we can all relate to Peter Gibbons:
So let’s breakdown that purgatory that only feels like it lasts an eternity:
3:58 – Oh hell yeah! We’re almost in the homestre—wait let’s count it out first, you dyslexic idiot. Remember last week when you thought 1:59 became 3, like some kind of perpetual Daylights Savings? Heaven on high, how are you a CPA? Okay let’s see,
*The clock goes from 3:59 to 4:00*
—YES! We are almost in the homestretch!
4:00 – Should I tell Perry? Perry might appreciate the camaraderie. It’s an easy way to be friendly! No one’s very nice to Perry. Honestly, it’s sad; he means well.
Me: “Hey Perry, *you motion to the clock* …how ’bout that? Almost there, man!”
Perry: “Great, now how about you work on getting me those inventory valuations I needed?”
4:01 – Why the FUCK did I talk to Perry, goddamn prick. I couldn’t even enjoy entering the homestretch because of him. Congratulations, this next sticky pad is becoming a flipbook of me putting my foot up your ass, Perry. I’m calling it “A Sperry Up Perry” and putting it on Vine.
4:04 – Give up on the flipbook. Contemplate if my body is still agile enough to egg Perry’s house this weekend.
4:13 – Whoa, wasn’t paying attention and we’re already 13 minutes in? Still didn’t feel nearly that long.
Again, this is a lot like drunk sex…
4:14 – Waste some more time thinking about how much Perry sucks.
4:17 – Maybe I’ll actually be able hold off on that fifth cup of coffee. I know health-nut “Jordyn” is just gonna judge me when I walk past her desk with anything caffeinated this late in the afternoon, anyway. Newsflash: you’re spelling your name wrong, idiot.
4:19 – Time is slowing down again. I’m going to start playing solitaire and not let myself stop until I win.
4:21 – Wow this game blows, quickest two losses ever. Let me check my stats: Jesus, my record is 108-7?? Well, I suppose that’s what I get for having principles. Solitaire’s settings are meant to be at one-card drawing. You know, the pure version of the game? Frankly, us naturalists don’t enough respect. Sure a result my win rate comes in just above 6%, but I don’t regret sticking to my morals.
*Sends a glare over at Amy, the Social Media Manager*
You’re probably building on that 30% win rate right now, you dirty little cheater, you.
4:36 – Yeah bitch, finally! Flap away, cards! I could watch these cards bounce around forever.
4:37 – Alright, how the hell do I skip this?
*Frustratingly taps away at keyboard much to Perry’s chagrin, who overhears*
Perry: “I don’t suppose that’s you finishing up those valuations?” Perry asks.
If only he knew that I don’t even know what the hell a valuation is…
Me: “Of course it is, Perry! Whadduya think I sit here playing Solitaire all day, like Amy?”
*The two of you share a laugh*
4:45 – Coming around 3rd base, definitely merits me catching up on my Twitter feed. Whoever came up with Chrome’s Incognito feature deserves a fucking Nobel Prize, or at least a Woody for their massive contributions to Internet porn surfing.
4:47 – Why the fuck is #Halloween trending? It’s the middle of September.
4:48 – Damn this girl’s twit pic looks hot…of course that’s not why I just decided to follow her, she legitimately has some funny tweets. Really, it’s not creepy.
4:48 [and some change] – I wonder if her Instagram is under the same name?
4:51 – Dare I attempt logging on to Facebook? Fuck it, work is basically over. Perry can tattle all he wants, I don’t give a shit.
*Start typing ‘www.Fa—’*
“—am I catching you at a bad time?” I hear from behind me.
*continue typing ‘rbes.com,’ quite pleased with the quick thinking*
“No, not at all!” I reply, swiveling around in your chair.
Goddammit, it’s just Amy.
Amy: “Good. Oh you know it’s Forbes with an ‘O,’ right?”
Me: “…what do you want, Amy?”
Amy: “Can you help me with these analytics?”
Me: “Whoa, that’s a big word there Amy, don’t hurt yourself!”
Seriously, what the fuck are analytics? Why do I even work here? Who gave me this job? Do I have 16, or 17 out of 20 questions left?
Amy: “No, actually though. Please, can you help me out real quick?”
Honestly? It’s almost 5…
Amy: “You are our numbers guy, aren’t you?”
Ha! Couldn’t tell ya if I was or not, Amy.
*Turn and stare at the clock which just turned to 4:54. Six minutes to 5 o’clock and counting.*
4:54 [and 19 seconds] – You turn back to Amy after what had to have been an uncomfortable amount of inattention for her.
Me: “Yeah alright, ya Solitaire Slut.”
Oh fuck, that was not supposed to come out.
Amy: “Excuse me?”
Me: “Yeah Perry, what the fuck? Keep it down over there. Now, Amy, let’s get to these analyses! Err, analytics!”
5:18 – Finally finish doing Amy`’s busywork after a quick self-tutorial on Google. And only had to stay 18 unpaid minutes today!
5:25 – Might as well just check Facebook for a few minutes now. Figure that way ‘Mr. Bossman,’ Joel, will be more likely to see it as me staying 30 minutes late when I walk by his office and say goodnight like the ass-kisser that I am.
5:31 – Finally pack up my stuff and stroll by a now-empty corner office. Hmm, must’ve left a few minutes earlier than usual. Oh well, at least he knows I stayed later than him!
“Hey Lisa, did Joel head out already?” I ask our receptionist.
Receptionist Lisa: “Oh yeah, he had a noon flight to California! Silly me, I forgot to send out a memo.”
Son of a bitch.