Ghost Town

I had hoped that my recent absence would be understood by my loyal readers to be the result of a mid-August vacation. Would that it were so; at the moment I am the only one in my office who came into work. D.C. is notoriously empty in August, of course, but those residents I would be happiest to see go -- rats, kickball players, and comically bad drivers -- seem to be tied up in the kinds of jobs that don't afford much R & R. (Let's face it: Being a rat involves a 24/7 commitment, kickball players would squander a week off playing flip-cup and "practicing" anyway, and the worst drivers... well, more on that in a moment.)

The president, however, has taken his leave. Today he has broken Ronald Reagan's record of 335 vacation days during a U.S. presidency. Reagan, of course, took eight years to reach that mark, while Bush has surpassed it in just 55 months. If he maintains his current pace of one day off for each four on the job, he will hit 584 vacation days before leaving office.

Of course, these statistics imply that POTUS is a seven-day-a-week kind of job (I've always assumed it was), and that a presidential "vacation" involves no work (I'm certain that it does). But still, it's more depressing than alarming to me. This year, I expect to spend about 3% of my time on vacation, and this includes holidays and "personal days."

A more relevant question might be how many hours out of any given day are spent on the job versus time spent goofing off. In this department, I am as guilty as anyone. I might not spend my stolen time mountain biking or jogging -- in fact, I'm writing this instead -- but I certainly find ways of breaking the monotony of a nine-hour work day (which includes a mandatory hourlong lunch -- don't get me started on that).

But getting back to the subject of terrible driving, I was somewhat stunned yesterday evening when I saw an elderly Chinese Quizno's employee drive straight into the rear bumper of the bus I was running to catch. He was attempting to turn out of a hospital parking lot and, apparently, failed to see the bus directly in front of his car. My astonishment quickly turned to dismay as I realized that the bus driver was going to wait for a supervisor to arrive to submit an accident report, despite no visible damage to the bumper.

The offending motorist was not so lucky -- his quarter panel and hood received a prominent gash, resembling the corner of a soft stick of butter after being gouged with a knife. Still, he was anxious to be on his way, and repeatedly sought assurances from the other driver that his leaving the scene would not precipitate undue legal action against him. "No problem, boss," he said several times. The bus driver was less than reassuring. "I can't make you stay here, man. I can't hold you, dog."

Moments later another bus arrived and I was able to leave. I guess I should be glad that I hadn't encountered Darkalena Large.