DURST: Workaholic Screening
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The "how to tell you're working too hard" test. Add up the numbers of your answers and check your score at the end.
My idea of getting away from it all is:
1. Driving an hour, unpacking a picnic spread in the shade overlooking a babbling brook and curling up with a good book.
2. Turning off the cell phone.
3. Leaning my head against the carpeting on the side of my cubicle while on hold.
In my experience most workaholics are:
1. Unusually driven.
2. People running the risk of burning out.
3. Slackers with a fancy name.
When I need a time out I:
1. Lock the door and take an hour nap.
2. Grab a couple of winks at red lights.
3. Chug a series of triple espressos.
A really good restaurant:
1. Has cloth napkins.
3. Doesn't force you to speak into a clown's head when ordering through the drive through.
Quitting time means:
1. When every other person has left the office.
2. My mental fire extinguisher needs refilling after putting out all the fires.
3. A quiet ceremony in the shade by a babbling brook.
Casual Fridays mean:
1. Everybody else shows up in sneakers and jeans.
2. Only one day to Sunday, which I occasionally take off.
3. Three entire days before anybody is reachable by phone.
My kids are:
1. My strength and my solace.
2. The reason I work so hard.
3. Reportedly doing much better since their medication was tweaked.
Perks I look for in a hotel are:
1. Modem hookups.
2. 24 hour room service.
3. The flat soft thing.
Score: 7- 10.
You drink de-caf because you can. Your children recognize you, often speak of you in the present tense and are determined to beat your high Tomb Raider III score. Co-workers try in vain to emulate your wide awake appearance with scotch tape and toothpicks. You have a Palm Pilot and use it to store recipes.
Score: 11- 14.
You are reachable via four different answering machines, none of which you ever hear ring. To save the ten minutes every morning it takes to put your contacts in, you had your windshield ground to your prescription. Underlings refer to the period before you've had your third cup of coffee as DKT: Daylight Killing Time. The school counselor called again to discuss "attitude problems," and for a minute there it sounded like they meant yours and not your kids'.
Score: 15- 18.
You shower every four days whether you need to or not. The Lexus's fax machine is in the shop again. Your kids just "love" the new boarding school. Your PDA just interrupted a meeting where you and three others like you seriously considered chipping in out of pocket to buy an antenna for the elevator so you are never out of cellular contact, to remind you of your monthly scheduled dinner with your spouse.
Score: 19 or over.
Given a choice, your kids will run to hug the live in nanny and often try to speak to you in Flemish. The cashier at the multiplex keeps offering you a senior citizen discount even though you're only 30. You worry your system might not survive the shock if you experience too long of a lapse between nervous breakdowns.
Will Durst scored a six.