Saul brought his daughter to work the other day. He was the only one to do so. Remember that Saul works nearly ten hours a day, and, yes, his daughter was with him for that entire time. How do I know? I called his desk phone at 7:00 PM and his daughter answered.
I have always had my scruples about the benefits of this annual festival; which, I have observed, in other workplaces, breaks down into a chaotic daycare atmosphere when some employees bring their preschoolers, kindergartners and elementary school children to work. However, the "Take Our Daughters to Work Foundation" (yes, there is such an organization) extols the Day’s virtues, stating that: “exposing girls to what a parent does during the work day is important, but showing them the value of their education, helping them discover the power and possibilities associated with a balanced work and family life, and providing them an opportunity to share how they envision the future and begin steps toward their end goals in a hands-on and interactive environment is key to achieving success.” I am not sure how watching Saul punch numbers into his computer while his daughter plays games on a Nintendo DS achieves success. I prefer to show my daughter the value of education by keeping her in school that day to learn math, science and the outcome of the Battle of Antietam.
I have often said that I am not sure what Saul actually does. From what I can gather, he processes and approves invoices for payment that have already been approved for payment. Seems circuitous and a waste of money to me, but, hey, who am I to argue?! The day started with his daughter sitting in his chair while Saul tried to explain to her his job. By lunchtime, I spied his daughter sitting on the opposite side of his desk, reading her Laurel Ingall’s book and texting other reprobates equally bored with their parents’ lines of work.
Also on this particular day, I noticed that Saul’s “sleepy” eyes were more prevalent. Against my better judgment, I inquired. Saul had contradicted mono. His physician recommended bed rest, which Saul declined, despite the fact that Saul’s spleen is engorged like an overripe tomato.
To end the day, Saul overheard me telling a co-worker that my father was experiencing back pain. Saul scooted his daughter away from the water cooler and into his office, after which he began the following disseration of muscle relaxers: “Did they put him on Vicodin? Oxycodine? Percocet? Demerol? I’ve taken them all – Darvocet, Soma, Flexeril, Cyclobenzaprine -- even the Eperison Patch. I suggest a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug like Naproxen. But, if they put him on an Opioid, tell him to take only Ibuprofen, not Tylenol or any acetaminophen.” I stopped the diatribe, lying to Saul; saying that I had a conference call that I was late to attend. I closed my door, slunk in the chair and kicked myself.
