“What’s the worst thing about doing the JOE Friday Pub Quiz?” someone asked me on the street the other day.
I say ‘someone’. It was actually no one. The only thing I ever get asked on the street is, “Sir, can you please get a fucking move on?” I am a dawdler by nature, and a proud one at that.
Unless I’m late, in which case I’m a leopard with go-faster stripes. And I’m always late. The dawdler and the leopard. A walking hypocrisy. Hello, nice to meet you.
Anyway, in answer to no one’s question, the worst thing about doing the JOE Friday Pub Quiz is that I never get to take the JOE Friday Pub Quiz. If I was looking to waste ten minutes of my Friday every week – and believe me I am – this would be a fine way to do it.
As it stands, I will just have to continue staring blankly into space until my boss walks past my desk and asks me what the hell I’m doing. “Dreaming,” I answer. “Dreaming of a world where I get to take the JOE Friday Pub Quiz.”
“Do that again and you’re fired,” he replies.
“Okay,” I say, and the world keeps turning.
