We didn't feel like going to work the other day. But we had a good excuse. "We're dead," we told our boss over the phone.
"OK," she said. "Feel better."
Being dead had other advantages. As a ghost, no one could see us. This raised some pretty lurid possibilities, the kind you have when you're young and sitting around with your friends and one of them asks what you would do if you suddenly woke up one morning and discovered you had X-ray eyes. "I would go into the girls' bathroom at school," Jake the Face would always say, a little too excitedly.
Instead, we found other ways to enjoy being invisible. Like speeding on the freeway without the CHP officer seeing us, and going to work to sit on our boss's desk making faces, and helping ourselves immensely in the cookie aisle at the local supermarket. Or walking into the movie theater for free--utterly naked.
Finally, we got bored. We began to feel guilty. If we really did die, we couldn't live with the thought that our epitaph didn't match our deeds. They would have to write: "Rest Not in Peace--You Disgusting Cheat, Sneak and Liar." No, no. Not for us. It's like something out of "Spoon River Anthology," Edgar Lee Masters' collection of verse that the Poetriad will perform tonight at 8 at the Westchester Elks Lodge, 8025 W. Manchester Ave., Playa del Rey. Admission is free. Reservations are required. Call (213) 301-9300.