I have a new job. Ok, it’s not new. It’s actually pretty old at this point–but it comes with different amount of shit here and there that needs to be dealt with pretty rapidly. I don’t work in an ER. No one is going to die if I screw up, but it can be demanding. It doesn’t give me much time to think–but then there are those moments. Those moments you remember that at 6:43am this morning you were boppin’ up and down playing full-body-rock-paper-scissors-shoot and you chuckle. You turn to your co-worker to tell her

“The most hilarious thing happened this morn–” and you stop yourself.

She won’t get it.
She wasn’t there.
She didn’t play ANY rock-paper-scissors-shoot this morning.
She certainly didn’t play a massive game of I’ll-be-your-hype-man-full-body-rock-paper-scissors-shoot. She doesn’t know what it feels like to get hoisted on someone else’s shoulders at 7:22am and have hundreds of people cheer for you while you play a game that was intended to only be played by children.*  So you stop yourself… “nevermind.”

It’s like we have this little secret–us gang of yahoos that show up at the ass crack of dawn three times/week. A secret that sticks with us throughout the day. We grab a coffee and think about how awesome Liza (pronounced Leeeeeeza) Proctor is, and those hundred yards you ran with her this morning were pretty awesome. You think about losing every damn game and then running every damn front hill. You feel the soreness in your legs, and you just smile.

You turn back to your coworker.

“You should show up to November Project on Monday,” you tell her.

“I dunno,” she says.

“We’re going to be at Reggie Wong Memorial Park doing absurd and hilarious things–it’s kind of like recess for adults.” you tell her, “I’ll see you there.”

“Ok. I’ll see you there,” she says.

“Wear a basketball jersey?” you tell her.

She gasps, “But why!?”

You laugh and run away.

And just like that, another one is in on our little secret.

 

Have a great weekend folks. We’ll see you Monday. Wear your basketball best!

Much Love,
– C. Payne

*and drunk people on St. Patty’s Day trying to figure out who has to pay the bar tab.

Our Little Secrets
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