On-The-Job Thinking

It started out innocently enough . . .

I began to think at parties now and then . . . just to loosen up, to fit in with others.

Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker.

I began to think alone, "to relax," I told myself; but I knew it wasn't true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time. That was when things began to sour at home.

One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother's.

I began to think on the job.

I knew that thinking and work don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself. I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thomas Paine and Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office feeling vague and confused, wondering, "What is it exactly we are doing here?"

One day the boss called me in. He said, "Listen, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another job."

his gave me a lot to think about. I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking."

"I knew you were thinking, and I've had enough" she said. "I want a divorce!"

"But Honey, surely it's not that serious."

"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don't make any money, so if you keep on thinking, we won't have any money!"

"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently.

She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama.

"I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stormed out the door.

I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR blaring on the radio, and ran up to the big glass doors, but they didn't open. The library was closed.

To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.

Leaning on the unyielding glass, whimpering for truth, a poster caught my eye.

"Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked.

You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker's Anonymous poster.

Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker.

I never miss a meeting. At each meeting we play on-line poker, Grand Theft Auto and watch non-educational videos. Last week it was "Porky's."

The week before that it was hours of "Reno 911" reruns.

Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.

I still have my job. Since I quit thinking I've been promoted to a management position. Things are a lot better at home.

Life just seems . . . easier, somehow, now that I've stopped thinking. The road to recovery is nearly complete for me. Today, I registered to vote as a Republican.

Dick Mac Recommends:

Sorry, Everybody
James Zetlen