BEACH BLAST 2003, FAMILY STYLE
My company performs inventory twice a year. As a salaried employee, I am granted the “privilege” of serving as an inventory auditor in one of our Texas stores each time. This means store employees scan every piece of sellable merchandise, and then I count pieces on randomly selected fixtures to double-check them.
This stinks for several reasons. First, it’s a department-store chain in which even the smaller stores pack in millions of dollars’ worth of merchandise. Second, it is done over two days, typically taking up to or more than 12 hours each day. Third, my sleep schedule will be catapulted into an empty pasture where I won’t be able to find it. Saturday night begins at 8 p.m. and will likely last into the small hours. Same for Sunday. Then I’ve got Monday off to hoof it home. We’ll probably skidaddle after lunch Monday to burn as much of our remaining time as possible on the beach.
So it’s not really a vacation. I chose a store near here, which is the closest salty-sanded shore to here. The Petite Filet and I figured this would be a good chance to get away as a family. The dogs are being dog-sat by my sister and my wife’s ex-boss. My company is paying for the motel, and will reimburse me partly for gas to and from. They’ve given me a paltry sum on which to eat. With some creativity and bargain souvenir shopping, we can avoid spending buckets of our own money (optimistic financing: is the bucket half empty, or totally empty?).
Anyway, here’s a breakdown of my weekend by the numbers:
1
Automotive oil-change required before trip. Also the number of floppy hats the Petite Filet is taking to shield her noggin.
68
Total dollars per deim added to my paycheck for expenses over the three days.
5
Hours it takes to drive to the Texas coast from Fort Worth.
12
CDs we’ll pick out to make the drive go faster.
0
McDonald’s hamburgers I plan to eat while on the trip.
14
Number of McDonald’s hamburgers I probably will eat during the trip.
1000
Grains of sand lodged in my butt crack after lounging on the beach in between working at the store. (You’ll have to pardon me, I’ve always wanted to use “butt crack” on the blog).
22
Times I will try to initiate a little “marital activity” during the weekend.
0-1, maybe 2
Chances that my attempts will bear fruit.
0
Blogs I’ll be able to read or entries I’ll post here through late Monday or early Tuesday.
55
Times I’ll wish I could read blogs while I'm counting socks.
200+
WMDs I hope to find on the beach. That’s Women of Mass Distraction. Happily married yadda yadda yadda. A guy can still look, can’t he? Hey, you can’t fight the power of a well-worn bikini. I’ve tried. Pig. Whatever.
4
Pairs of clean underwear I’m packing.
2
Strollers we’ll be taking with us (one’s an off-road model and one a more portable “umbrella” stroller for shopping, etc.).
3
Times I hope to go for a jog along the sea wall.
42.5
The percentage by which the Cutlet’s diaper will expand when exposed to salt water. (Actually, we've got some of those waterproof "swimmers" for him)
30
SPF of the sunscreen we’ll be using.
97
Times we’ll wish we lived closer to a beach.
1,169
Times the Cutlet will laugh or smile during our three-day jaunt. So glad his happiness is contagious and currently so readily available. This is going to be fun!
