If I was a more enterprising lad, I’d create a service in which people could fulfill all of their summertime desires over one glorious — and probably sleepless — Labor Day weekend.
You know how it is, my bros. Labor Day comes around and you’re just moping all through the family barbecue because you realize you haven’t done one-tenth of the cool things you had planned for this summer.
Look at you, just sitting there in that lawn chair and muttering ruefully to yourself while everyone else is at least pretending to like Aunt Sylvia’s weird potato salad.
We get it, though. If you don’t go full bore starting on Memorial Day, then by the time you reach early September, it feels like you have completely squandered the hot, sticky heaven that is summer.
And it’s true, you schmuck, you have. Now, eat some damn potato salad, cat hair and all, so Aunt Sylvia doesn’t run off crying into the one and only bathroom.
It’s sad, the fleeting nature of summer, but what if you could get it all back? What if over three days you could cram in all the crap you failed to do in a super high-speed blur of summertime fun? You’d be like a freewheeling meth addict in a time machine, and just go ahead and tell me that doesn’t sound like high times.
Isn’t it time you call my hot new business (business name pending) and get this show on the road?
“Hello,” you say, all hangdog-like when you come into the sprawling offices of my billion dollar company. “I completely wasted summer by binge watching ‘Orange is the New Black’ on Netflix and now my kids hate me, my wife is fooling around with some time-traveling meth addict and my dog won’t even look at me anymore. What can I do to make amends for my slothful ways?”
Brother, do I have the package for you. For one low, low* price, you can completely atone by signing up for the “Water-Skiing/Boogie-Boarding/Old Orchard Beach-Overeating/Family-Camping in a Yert, whatever the hell that is/Treehouse-Building/Teaching the Kid How to Fish, Sort Of/Jet Ski-Renting/Slip ‘n Sliding/Thong-Wearing/Hammock-Swinging/Tick-Killing/Seafood-Eating/Souvenir-Buying/Sunburn-Peeling” Adventure package.
*’Low, low’ being a relative term. I mean, come on, look at the size of my office. Someone’s got to pay for all that furniture, the sexy receptionist, Mimi, and the break room waterslide. Also, Slip ‘n Slide not included.
It is my firm belief that with the right commitment and perhaps just a few mood-elevating substances, you could totally bang out this bonanza of fun over the three-day weekend.
With my talented staff to plan all this out for you, by the time you go back to work on Tuesday you will be absolutely covered with love and adoration from your family. Not to mention crawling with ticks, smeared with aloe for the sunburn and painted head to toe with that pink stuff used to soothe poison ivy. Which it doesn’t. Soothe it, I mean. Better off just saying to hell with it and scratching yourself with a fork.
Late-summer remorse is a depressing state of mind, and it’s one you’ll have to live with over the next nine months of cold, dark winter, which is scheduled to begin next week, according to the Farmer’s Almanac.
I tell you, there are only a couple things standing in the way of the successful launch of this exciting new business: A. I generally can’t plan so much as my next meal, let alone a furious spree of fun for a complete stranger. And 2. I ain’t got no money for things like brochures and websites, exotic receptionists and that water slide thing.
Which is why I exhaustively explored all of my options before coming to the conclusion that the quickest way for me to come up with the “capital” to cover my “overhead” is to start an aggressive campaign through Kickstarter.
Whatever the hell that is.
So, it’s plain to see that your only hope for a late-summer orgy of vacation fun* begins with you sending me enormous sums of money so we can get this party started. Checks accepted. Also, cash. Act now and avoid the rush.
* Scratching fork not included.
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