If you live anywhere near a school-aged child or teenager on the long days toward the end of summer, you’ve heard that lament repeated so often, it’s become a litany. Even some adults mouth the phrase with too much regularity.

In the years before my retirement, I, myself, may have been guilty of revealing ennui in certain situations, such as sitting through a three-hour town council meeting the major topic of which was whether to buy two-inch or four-inch sewer pipe or being trapped into watching the 627 color slides of a (former) friend’s vacation in Iowa. But that was long ago. Now, I’m never bored. My secret is to avoid potentially yawn-producing situations and, if that’s impossible, be prepared to do something interesting during the ones you can’t avoid. The first step in my anti-boring plan has been fairly easy. If someone invites me to join them for a seminar on the interrelationship of bivalve mortality and the phases of the moon, I simply say, “No, thanks.” That step I characterize as “fairly easy” because several years ago – decades, actually – a good friend of mine taught me how to say “no” after nearly a lifetime of acquiescing to absurd requests. (I had to practice in front of a mirror, changing the automatic nod of my head to a negative shake while retaining a pleasant smile. It’s somewhat like patting your head and rubbing your belly at the same time, except it can be done with less practice. Then I spent weeks verbalizing the negative response in a voice which would neither insult or encourage the favor-requester. At first, it came out “yeh-yeh-yhno-no-no.” However, soon I could pronounced it in the proper firm-tactful tone.)

Since learning this trick, I have turned down the opportunity to attend three receptions in honor of persons retiring after 50 years of service, missed half a dozen Girl Scout and Boy Scout awards ceremonies, avoided many high school and college graduation exercises and once was absent from an oboe soloist’s concert. I also have not attended many, many seminars and lectures on topics ranging from acid rain to bird-watching for the visually impaired.

You may think that this would reduce my education about some matters of personal, community, national or international concern. Not so. All you have to do is talk to someone who attended the oboe concert or the bird-watching lecture and they will boil everything that took place for two or three boring hours in a few well-chosen sentences. Sometimes, all they have to report is that: “It was boring.”

These techniques save lots of time which you may devote to non-boring activities. These vary according to individual taste. Anyone with the slightest bit of creativity can find something to occupy those hours. I like to read, write, watch the few entertaining programs on television (that boils down to about two hours a week) and sleep, which I have learned to treasure as a boredom-chaser.

The second part of my program – having something to do at the boring events you can’t avoid – is equally simple and inspired.

I smuggle small books to read and little notebooks to write and doodle in wherever possible. If someone is watching or I’m in a place that’s too dark for reading or writing, I travel in mental space. I plan a dream trip to Pittsburgh or Rome. I evoke the most pleasant memories from my past and embellish them with details I had forgotten or that never occurred. I try to remember how to conjugate verbs in Latin or German.

Some boring events, such as cocktail parties or receptions, do not lend themselves to this technique. I’ve devised another way. If someone is telling me a long story that I’ve heard before or hoped never to hear, I make minute observations – like estimating in square millimeters the area of the speaking person’s nostrils, determining the true color of their eyes and observing the blood vessels therein or checking hairlines for early signs of psoriasis.

Such observational games can be extended to other people nearby or the surrounding. You can note the number of red dresses in the room, try to remember the names of everyone you’ve been introduced to, guess ages and weights, count ceiling tiles or check for tablecloth stains.

The permutations are endless.

Using these techniques, I’m never bored. Well, almost never. It’s just when I have to write columns like this when I can’t think of anything else to write about that I (yawn) begin to think (yawn) that maybe I could spend (yawn) some time working on not boring others.