It's 4:45 on a Friday. 15 minutes until freedom. As you watch the seconds tick by the emotionless face of the office clock, you begin to taste the wings you'll be sharing with your buddy Mike while your favorite team fights for victory on the big screen. Your head swims with the thought of the cold ones waiting for you at home. You can almost hear your lounge pants calling out, "put me on you!"
But what's this? Your supervisor is walking your way. Not meandering. Walking. With purpose. And he's got that look on his face-- that look he gives when he's about to ask you to stay late. A moment of sheer terror tears through your body. You start to lose feeling in your limbs. Your weekend dreams are slipping away with each step he takes towards you.
In a moment of brilliance, you grab your leftovers from the corner of your desk. There's still a healthy dollop of ketchup nestled by your otherwise unloved fries. Without hesitation, you glop the ketchup all over your shirt-- attending to your neck and mouth as seemed necessary-- and flop over in your chair.
Your supervisor pauses only a moment before he approaches. You don't move, and so you can't see what he's doing, but you can feel his piercing glare as he peruses your body for signs of life. After what seems like days, he gives you a poke, a couple sniffs, and a final glance before he leaves your cubicle and pounces on Stan from accounting who had the great misfortune of walking by your desk at the exact moment your ruse took effect.
Thanks for taking the bullet on that one, Stan! Better luck next week.