This is the tale of an idea. They say an idea can change the world. Apparently ‘they’ didn’t mention that the idea had to be on a Boeing 757 as it smacked into one of a matching pair of sky scrapers (it’s been 10 years, we can joke about this now). This idea hasn’t changed the world yet, but I think it could. This is the story of the greatest holiday known to man.
I awoke one bright summer morning at the crack of 11am. Having once again failed in my goal of “get up in time for Maccas breakfast” I decided to find out where I was. As it turns out I was at a friend’s house and it was the gentle screaming of his clapped out lawnmower that had interrupted my slumber. So I shortly found myself with coffee in hand providing supervision to my friend as he had a fair old crack at shoving a rusted, asthmatic lawnmower through grass so feral it probably received Centrelink payments.
After a few minutes of “you missed a spot” and getting branches thrown at me I came to realise I was missing something. There was something unmistakably wrong with my day. It was like dancing with Heather Mills, something wasn’t quite right.
I wanted a drink.
There was a need deep in my soul that could be quenched with bugger all but a nice, cold, rum and coke. I knew I wanted it, but I also knew I had to be a productive human being at some point during the day. I had only just gotten out of bed and a whole day full of crap I didn’t want to do ahead of me. That and being a uni student, I was pretty damn broke. I had enough money left in my bank to put a little fuel in my car or buy some food for the week ahead (not both). I had study I should be doing, money I should be saving, and no doubt a whole bunch of other things I really should have given a crap about.
But no. Something inside me climbed a metaphorical mountain and declared to the world “No! I will not!” in what was no doubt a heroic pose and a bold statement of defiance. The fact this statement was immediately follow by “Fuck it, I’m getting drunk!” probably tarnishes that a little, but I stand by my alcoholic convictions, and that’s exactly what I did. I marched right inside, found myself a bottle of rum, some ice, the biggest glass I could find (note: may have been a vase, this may also explain why I keep finding floral arrangements in my drinking cup...) and mixed myself one hell of a drink.
A few minutes later I was sitting in the back yard basking in the radiance of my excellent decision. Also the sun, but mostly my decision. I was suddenly feeling better, it was like my life had found something it was missing, and then poured it over ice and added a slice of lime. It is truly a wonderful feeling to know what you want in life, to go after it and achieve it. Especially before midday and with a minimum of effort.
My compadre gave up on the lawn and joined my in a glass of righteousness, soon realising the wisdom of my ways. A newfound look of respect appeared in his eyes when he realised what I had discovered. The Idea had come to me, I was merely a conduit for a greater power that had seen that tasks of men; the toil and labours, the drudgery and hard work. This power looked at the great tasks of men and spoke thusly:
“Eh, Fuck it.”
It was on this momentous day that I declared the first Holiday From Responsibility. I faced the world and decided that nothing I did today was going to be my fault. I was on holiday from having to take responsibility for my own actions, from study, from work, from commitments, hell, even from pants.
15 minutes later my car returned to my friend’s front lawn. Sideways. At speed. With me hanging out the window waving my beer.
That small amount of money in my bank account? Turns out it was just about enough for a carton. Fuel? not my problem. Food? not my problem. I was on holiday from having to be responsible for any of that junk. So my friend and pulled up a couch on the front porch and proceeded to ensure we were well and truly drunk by 2pm. We accomplished precisely stuff all that day, it felt pretty damn good. We called friends to see how there day at work was going and tell them about our idea, several bailed early to honour this new holiday (with a fresh carton). We invented new drinking games, we cheered on joggers and school kids passing the house, and we made the best possible use of a warm summer’s day in Australia; we got f**k-eyed.
A little later another friend of mine, let’s call her Chesty, came by to see what all the fuss was about. This quickly turned into her driving me on a snack run to the local shops. Chesty later described, with some horror, chasing me down the dairy aisle of a supermarket while I cackled madly and skulled a litre of chocolate milk shouting “If I yak this up later, it’s not my responsibility! And it’s going to be chunky as hell! AHAHAHAH”.
This was the first of many Holidays From Responsibility. Since that fateful day the call has gone forth many times. Call in sick to work, ditch the missus, stop what you’re doing and head to the liquor store because no-one wants anything to do with responsibility today. It’s time to feel good about doing nothing again.
That’s right, NOTHING is your responsibility, it’s your day off.
It’s your Holiday From Responsibility.
-Worst Guy Ever
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