It was one of those lazy summer afternoons that breed in contemporary American suburbs.  There were limitless things to do, but I considered none of them due to the dual facts that I had no money and that I also loathed mindless consumption.  Anything I could have done required me actively spending money, so I decided I would stay at home and kill yet another August afternoon.  By this point in the summer, I had gotten quite used to this routine.  If I wasn't working during the day, I wasn't doing anything else useful. 

I had some paper work to do for the upcoming semester, but I decided instead to channel surf until one o'clock.  It was just my luck that the Phillies happened to be playing a day game on my day off.  It was the perfect excuse to let one more day evaporate into history without meaningful participation from me.  It was twelve-thirty by the time I finally sauntered downstairs, still clothed in only my underwear.  Certainly, I was hungry by this time, but you must understand how great my desire to remain idle truly was:  The effort required to prepare myself a meal seemed far too daunting at the time, and so I remained laying on the couch watching The People's Court until, fifteen minutes later, I had to eat.

If I had the choice, I would've stayed where I was, but the discomfort of an empty stomach had finally eclipsed that of making food.  I sloppily threw together some sandwiches and poured myself a glass of juice.  It was the same meal I made myself every time I was responsible for my own sustenance during the last month.  The sandwiches were simply constructed:  Toast four slices of bread, get out four slices of cheese, slice a tomato and get out some lettuce.  I put it all together predictably, and this is what I ate during the latter parts of July and into August of this particular summer.

All of a sudden, it was the second inning and the Phillies were losing 3-0.  Perfect.  I didn't move or really do anything during the first inning, and subsequently, I recall none of it.  By this time, I was thoroughly bored yet triumphantly apathetic.  Equal were my desires to both taste the wind of the Pennsylvania daytime and to pretend that it did not exist by laying exactly where I was for two more hours.  I decided instead of either to call my unemployed friend Jonny, to see how he had decided to kill his time.  Lacking a job, I predicted Jonny to be very good at doing nothing.  I was correct.

He had only just woken up himself and was simply listening to music.  I asked if he wished to make his way to my house to watch the remainder of the game.  If I was going to accomplish nothing, I figured I might as well be doing it with a friend.  Jonny said he too was feeling useless, and could use the company.  He wanted to finish the record he was listening to, and then he'd be over. 

By the time he arrived, the Phillies had already come back and let the Mets pull away.  The score was 7-2 in the sixth inning.  The time was by now three o'clock, and I had only temporarily moved from the couch to throw on an unwashed tee-shirt and pair of shorts.  I had not showered in two days, and keeping in mind the state of my clothing, I'm sure my appearance was haggard.

So there we sat, watching the sixth inning, occasionally conversing about our shared senses of pure apathy.  Between us, we had done enough during the day to occupy a solid two minutes of a normal man's day.

They left the bases loaded in the sixth, but couldn't score any runs.

In the seventh inning, our conversation livened up and switched to music, as it always seems to.  The clock chugged on towards late afternoon, that time when I could peer out the window to the front lawn and only see the shadow of my house creeping towards the road. 

The seventh inning ended with two Phillies left on base, another opportunity wasted in this important game.

I asked Jonny if he liked being jobless, if he liked having nothing to do each day except wake up, eat, and struggle to find sixteen hours worth of things to do.  He said he didn't.  I played the devil's advocate, singing the praises of his situation:  Nothing to do all day!  No responsibility!  No stress!  No worries and no troubles!  Ahh, it seemed to me the perfect life.

 As the game passed the eighth inning and proceded to the ninth, it became clear that the Phillies would not win.  The score was 7-2, and the eighth inning again saw the Phils leave two men on base.

By the ninth inning, I finally agreed with Jonny that being unemployed, while very appealing, gets old fast in a small town.

 "How can I find something to do every day?" said Jonny.

On all accounts, he was right.

The game ended.  The Mets won 7-2.  Niether team scored at all since Jonny's arrival, despite the Phillies repeated chances to do so.  Who knows how different my day would have been had the Phillies won?  How would have my mood been altered?  What would have I done with it?

But, they hadn't won, and my day remained, as it was, uneventful.  The time was four thirty.  It was one of those lazy afternoons that breed in contemporary American suburbs.

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