Four of my coworkers and I, escape force ourselves to go out each Friday at lunch to bitch about work unwind at a local eatery/drinkery. We try a different place each week, anything from diners to pubs to ethnic cuisine to vegetarian buffets. The goal is to try something new every time and have a few pints laughs.
Today was such a gloriously beautiful day and, we figured, perhaps one of the few remaining gloriously beautiful days for the next few months, (birds singing, sun shining, leaves crunching, temperatures still hanging in at the double digits). So, we decided to have a picnic today instead of going to a restaurant.
We planned all week.
Lululemon Boy brought his tiny BBQ, his ghetto suburb blaster and a stunning variety of tunes.
Nigel, our resident chef, and mascot, brought a tub of mayonnaise-free potato salad and a paper plate which he tried to convince us was an English frisbee.
And we all purchase the required beverages. (Because it’s important to stay well hydrated when spending time in the outdoors).
I was Pollyanna, chronicler of the event and disguiser of participants in the photos in case there’s a trial.
Here’s everybody waiting for stuff to warm up.
Mmmmmmm, starting to smell good!
Ready. (No, I didn’t eat any of the meat products. I had something just as good, though far less photogenic.)
We watched this guy for a while in his industrial leaf-blowing machine blowing leaves around. In a park. In the same spot. For an hour.
Then everyone started to get silly and danced around a bit. Then the conversation, like most conversations in situations like this turned to tattoos, piercings, kinky sex and whether or not it would be a good idea to pitch a tent.
Ahhh. Good times!
Before we knew it, it was time to go back to work.
That part of the picnic was too sad to capture on film.
 Not his real name, we mock him mercilessly because he’s so frightfully, frightfully macho, yet is giddily in love with his Lululemon sweater.
 Not his real name, but his evolving new look puts us in mind of some sort of high-brow British alternative rock musician and as far as we know they are all called Nigel.
 Not her real name, but she is tall and leggy and blond and likes to kick ass.
 Not his real name, but he’s only been working with us for a couple of months so we can’t be expected to remember his real name. We think it has a vowel in it.
 Not my real name, but I’ve adopted it for the day to help me be nice.