Give up The Ghost

The satisfactions I take refuse to impress.  Yesterday I couldn't work out how to get in the water before work, only to be smugly satisfied when tales of the skunk made rounds. As I sat outside my office reading interview transcripts, highlighter firm in hand, concentration wrung from a dry rag, diligently guarding my car from the alternate-side ticket it was due in my absence, my co-workers pulled up, bounding out the doors like goofy little aliens, unstrapping their boards with a whiff of glee. I could only grin to myself, bemused by their apparent energetic satisfaction at having missed the call.  See, I had first hand knowledge. Real, Facebook instilled certainty that theirs had been a Quixotic adventure.  I continued my work, safe in my safety. But as I entered the office, the continued beaming faces told a slightly different story. I approached, admittedly disquieted a touch, sidling up and with a skeptically hopeful nod nod wink wink, offered "so you got skunked huh?" They looked up, a little confused, and through a sweetly vacant smile one of them says "what do you mean?  I got three perfect little waves!" The digital ground beneath my feet started to shift ever so. "But it was what, ankle high right?  Calf maybe?" Reaching for anything, any sort of solidity, I fumbled in the newly analogue dark.  "Yeah! Small! So fun. I stood up on three waves!"  My foolishness rarely disappoints.