vacation

Sisyphus, slathered in sun block and attended by a dozen or more little paper umbrellas and empty plastic cups, has been out like a light for hours. Boy, is he going to be sorry later, says Prometheus, one beach chair over. Hephaestus and Athena nod knowingly at each other. You can’t blame the guy, says Athena. Or maybe you can. The whole idea of taking a vacation is to relax. But he is who he is, I guess.

A swarm of monkeys comes running past them and jumps splashing into the water. Tourist workers pass through smiling, handing out newspapers and magazines to anyone interested. As if on cue, cell phones pop out, and an infinity of instructions to schedule or cancel meetings, check on reports and get the office scoop are completed in the time it takes the next wave to reach the shore.

Sisyphus groans and sits upright in his Siesta Lounger. Oh, shit. Look at me, he says, staring at his arms and legs. This is really going to hurt. Ice. I need ice, and he staggers off towards the hotel. I don’t know what I think about these business junkets, says Athena. It doesn’t matter, says Hephaestus. When it’s all said and done, it’s the Chairman’s vote that counts.