Dear Mr. Finn,
I’m writing to inform you that I will not be coming to work on Thursday, because I’ll be observing Barnaclesday next Wednesday. If you’re anything like my previous employers you’ll probably say ‘that’s not a real holiday’ and ‘You don’t show up to work anyway’. But just allow me to explain myself.
As a kid my family was very poor. The only toy I owned as a child was a rock which I accidentally lost at a rock museum. My parents could barely scrape by enough to purchase their golden monocles. Needless to say, times were tough.
I was 6 years old when I was introduced to Barnaclesday. My family and I were walking through the port and saw a great big boat. It was covered in a bright emerald sheen, and once that pesky green sheet of glass was carried away I realized it was actually coated in gold. The Anabellium. I’ve never felt so connected with my family as I did when we collectively admired the behemoth. That’s when my parents decided it was time for my Barnicleday rite of passage. So she threw me in the wintry water below.
Now I’m going to level with you Finn. As somebody who knows me as the hardworking never give it up type, when I say that as my body went into shock and I began to doubt my mother’s Barnacleday intentions, you know how dire it must have been. I feel like that’s where my fear of the ocean stems from. Speaking of I’d like to again apologize for the sushi restaurant incident. I hope your wife’s arm surgery goes well.
All my fears were quelled though when I woke up surrounded by concerned adults and a sailor giving CPR to me. My parents came quickly though, and for some reason were dressed in decorative jewelry. We left in a blur, we only just caught the tail end of a siren blaring ‘the Annabelium has been robbed!’
I’m sorry to tell you Finn, that much like our case of the missing cash register, the mystery of the robbing of the annabellium or where my parents got that jewelry was never solved. But damn it if that day didn’t instill a great love of Barnacleday in me.
That’s how Barnacleday would go nearly every year! We’d go somewhere expensive like a museum or a bank, then my parents would put me in some odd situation like pushing me in a lake or breaking my arm, then I’d awaken, suddenly surrounded by concerned adults, my parents would rush me off, and walla! We’d have a ratatouille dinner.
The dinner was the best part for me, because I didn’t usually have 3 meals like normal people. My parents loved their Kobe beef, so they usually didn’t have enough food left over for me.
I could always look forward to Barnacleday though. My parents were too busy hiding from the ‘pigs’ so I could eat all the rats I could catch. Man I loved ratatouille.
Unfortunately our family time celebrating Barnacleday as a family came to an end. My parents were planning on throwing me out the second story window at a fancy hotel. Unfortunately that’s when the cops came and accused them of “child endangerment” and “assault” and “crimes against gopherskind”.
I’ve only been able to contact my parents once a week through the mail and twice a week through cakes. Luckily they finally said that they wanted to celebrate Barnacleday with me at the prison.
So that’s why I’m writing to inform you Mr. Finn, that I won’t be available next Thursday for Mr. Finns Fish Emporium and Illegal Sushi Restaurant, and I know I don’t technically work there, but I just want to inform you that I won’t be there.