Laziness is a Salesman

And a really good one at that.

He's not too pushy, but stubborn. Motivated but not intense. In fact, many of his college friends were surprised he became a salesman at all. It wasn't really like him.

But he fits into the role well, and now he's at the door. He's always at the door. He won't ring the doorbell, he'll just quietly knock. All day. Every day. He doesn't care how long he waits. He knows you will come by eventually.

When you're busy it's easy to ignore him. But as soon as you stop, even for a second, you can hear his omnipotent percussion. Some people get annoyed by his presence. Others look forward to seeing him, looking over what he has to offer.

A lot of people panic. I panic sometimes, too. The second my ass hits the couch, laziness comes in. I didn't let him in, did I? How does he always know?

Half of his job is easy, he'll hand me the remote or minimize my writing software. Then he starts talking.

"Great job today." He says with a grin. "You deserve some time off."

He's so genuine, it's hard to disagree. And why would I? To tell him he's wrong is to say I'm flawed. To turn away is to admit failure. Why would I want to do that?

"This show is great. This is practically studying comedy, no?"

Shit, is he right? I've learned not to trust him, but I've heard the greats say the same thing. Is he talking to them too?

"You're not getting fat. Well, you are, but the funniest people are fat"

He's getting personal. It's okay, I tell him everything. He's my right hand man. My go-to guy. I'd hang with him all day if I could.

That's when I feel a sharp sting in my neck. Shit!

A bee zips in front of me. It screams "You're wasting time!"

It then circles around in the air until falling into my hands. It dies. I only have so many more of those guys.

My fear of death shoots me up, and I usher the salesman out the front door. "The mortalibee is right. You gotta go." I close the door behind him.

I walk upstairs and start the shower. All the while, I hear knocking.