1:35 am: Jesus, it’s 1:35? I should probably go to bed.
1:36 am: Hey, can I get my check? And yeah, one more vodka-soda. Actually, make that a double.
1:48 am: *Ubers home*
1:55 am: Alright, where’s that Alka Seltzer? If it worked for Don Draper, it’ll work for me.
6:30 am: *Presses Snooze*
6:39 am: *Presses Snooze*
6:48 am: *Presses Snooze*
6:57 am: *Presses Snooze*
7:06 am: That Alka Seltzer did not work. Whatever, it’s Friday.
7:28 am: No way I’m shaving today. The girls at happy hour are going to eat this five o’clock shadow up.
7:35 am: Can you tell I spilled that vodka-soda on these pants last night? It doesn’t look like I did, right? If my coworkers can’t handle a little voddy spill on a casual Friday, then this isn’t a company I want to be a part of.
7:50 am: Daddy needs a banana and a coffee. STAT.
8:31 am: *Arrives a minute late at work* Shit, a little late. Nothing a few smiles and points can’t fix.
8:50 am: Alright, I gotta knock out as much work as possible before lunch so I can mail it in all afternoon.
8:51 am: *Cues up ESPN to watch The British Open*
9:25 am: I’m going to reply to all these emails with some really inquisitory questions that they’ll want to put off until Monday. Never fails.
10:15 am: Boom, the ball is officially in everyone else’s court. I swear to God, if Caroline hits me with a five paragraph email at 4:50, I will absolutely lose it.
11:20 am: It’s too early to toss out texts about tonight, right? Yeah, too early. Hold off.
12:29 pm: *Walks over to co-worker’s desk*
12:30 pm: “Sup, bro? What are you up to tomorrow? Here’s what I’m thinking: you, me, bar, beers, buzzed, wings, shots, drunk, waitresses: hot, British Open, Spieth slaughter, then quick nap at my place and before we hit the tizzown.”
12:32 pm: God, that Andy Bernard line never gets old.
12:45 pm: “Yeah, I’ll have a chicken fajita burrito bowl.”
12:55 pm: Alright, how long can I ride this lunch out for, and more importantly, will anyone be able to smell this beer from Chipotle on my breath?
1:30 pm: Oh, God. Chipotle was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.
1:31 pm: *Power walks to bathroom, never releasing clenched cheeks*
1:32 pm: *Scrolls Instagram looking for a post from Paige Renee*
1:41 pm: Really hope no one goes in there after the damage I just did.
1:42 pm: *Power walks with head down back to desk hoping no one notices I’ve been gone for 10 minutes*
2:25 pm: I think I can justifiably text everyone about tonight now.
2:35 pm: Why hasn’t anyone responded yet? Don’t they know it’s Friday?
3:00 pm: Alright, Todd responded and he wants to get after it. I think his fiancee is out of town so happy hour is about to get loose.
3:12 pm: Still no word from Caroline and it looks like she ducked out early. Probably going to run a marathon or something this weekend. Ha, fuckin’ dork.
3:40 pm: Do I need to change before happy hour? Nah, let’s let it ride this weekend.
3:41 pm: Where are my headphones? This Kid Rock isn’t going to listen to itself and I need to bring the heat if Todd’s looking to max out on margaritas tonight.
3:58 pm: Why am I still here?
4:30 pm: *Incessantly taps pencil on desk looking at the clock* Is this what the bulls in Pamplona feel like before they get released?
4:50 pm: *Reads: “Inbox (1)”* Are you KIDDING me, Caroline? You’re not even here!
4:51 pm: *Clicks out of email, pretends to clean desk*
4:59 pm: Happy hour, happy hour, happy hour, happy hour, happy hour, happy hour, happy hour.
5:00 pm: HAPPY HOUR.
5:01 pm: Walks out of work like this:
5:02 pm: *Calls Todd* “Sup, buddy?” .
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