And so it appears again. Today, in offices across this great land, men and women of all races, colors, creeds, and whatever other trait or characteristic I omitted due to a pathological lack of interest in political correctness will observe a time-honored, white-collar tradition: the Day Before the Holiday (or "DBH" for text-messaging purposes).
There is no day as traditionally unproductive in an office setting as the DBH, although the day upon which a member of the office social network returns from a vacation (especially one that is somehow tied into either his/her wedding or the birth of a child) comes pretty damn close. Having spent several years working for my brother Kelly and his commercial construction company, in my experience the DBH is exclusively a white-collar event. Perhaps Kelly might spend more time goofing off on the day before a holiday if he did not, more often than not, work on the holiday itself.
Ah, the DBH! It is on this glorious day that men and women throughout the office spend copious amounts of time regaling one another with stories of how their holiday shall be spent. It is as if induction papers have been served nationwide and these co-workers (including those of whom scheme against one another - sometimes secretly and often openly) are preparing to be shipped off to a far-away land rather than, in the case of Thanksgiving, simply spending a Thursday afternoon with family and friends.
And since today is an office "holiday", the time devoted to the inane Thanksgiving-related banter ("What are you cooking?", "How many people are you having?", and the like) is the time that on a normal Wednesday might actually be spent performing work. Since one cannot celebrate a holiday in 21st Century America unless one's every movement is documented on one's social media accounts, the face-to-face time expended on the DBH cannot be parsed out of the time needed to update one's entire social network about one's Thanksgiving activities. To suggest to the contrary is practically blasphemous.
Whether your dinner party shall be a small group tomorrow or something considerably bigger, hopefully the adults among your number shall be either (a) age-level readers; or (b) not entirely inconsiderate assholes.
Unless, of course, irony is on the menu...
Sign in the 3rd floor kitchen
(Apparently, which sink
was not identified clearly)
...in which case, invite a lawyer.