“How was your weekend?”
It never fails. You will receive this question no less than four times every Monday morning, and because you’re young, free, and a borderline scum bag, you have to give the PG, possibly PG-13, version of your weekend. Well, guess what? You can only stroll in on Monday looking like Ray Velcoro so many times before people start to gather that you are completely full of shit. Now that I’ve reached my thirties, I’ve found myself on the other side of this equation. And I see right through your bullshit, youngster.
This is what your description says about your weekend.
“Oh, it was pretty low key.”
You’ve got a lot of damn nerve offering up this classic response. Just because I’m out of the game doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what you were up to. Friday night? You went straight to the bar from work in your Pelican Hill golf polo and slacks. I know this because you told me that’s what you were doing. You filled up on chips and salsa at the local overpriced Tex-Mex joint, but you forgot to eat anything with any real substance. Then you proceeded to slam 3 dangerously strong variations on the classic margarita, and you were basically a dead man walking by 10 o’clock.
By 10:30 p.m., you were shooting out texts looking for Adderall, and you even resorted to asking your buddy’s buddy that you just met. He thinks you’re trash now, dude. Way to go. Saturday? You overslept for your 10:02 a.m. tee time and showed up somewhere on hole 3. You played terribly, because of course, and you drank two beers which put you back into full blown obnoxious drunk mode. After golf, you went home, napped, and felt like shit when you woke up at 7 p.m. Despite every indicator telling you to stay home, you went and met up some buddies. Your Sunday was hell. Way to go.
“Went and grabbed dinner and drinks with my girlfriend and some of her friends.”
You poor bastard. While all of this is true, you should replace “some drinks” with “all of the drinks.” You never just have “some” drinks with her friends. No way. You tied one on, and it was probably obvious you didn’t want to be there. You were less than thrilled when mystery girl that nobody at the office has met decided to order the surf and turf. Not only did you blackout, but you dropped $150 on dinner. That’s also how I know you didn’t go out Saturday night. I know how much money you make, and you couldn’t afford it.
“Not a whole lot. Went out to the pool for a bit.”
Is that how you obtained those second degree burns all over your body? You may have just “gone to the pool,” but did you fall asleep or did you pass out? Don’t try to act like you were just kind of hanging out reading a book by the pool. Your voice is nearly gone, and your face is the color of my balls after I get kicked in the nuts by life every day. I’m guessing you went full blown 2014 Manziel at a pool party. I bet your friend that actually knows how to speak to girls lined something up, but you were too hammered and out of shape to close.
“Not a damn thing.”
Finally, some truth. Aside from having food delivered twice, and swinging by the store to pick up a case, you did nothing. Friday night, you stayed in and watched a ballgame. It was glorious. Afterward, you looked down at your phone which you ignored all night and felt great that you weren’t at whatever overly crowded bar your friends were at. Saturday morning you were able to sleep in until 8:30, which is a massive victory in my book. Then you did nothing but watch Season 4 of The Walking Dead while you continued to stay off the grid. Fantastic weekend, kid. You’re catching on fast.
“Just went out,” followed by a slight laugh.
Well, the fact that you won’t maintain eye contact with me is telling, and that stupid little laugh leads me to believe that you either 1) did drugs, 2) hooked up with a member of the opposite sex that you probably shouldn’t have, or 3) both. You were intentionally vague with me, and now I’m onto you. I fully expect your nose to start bleeding at any moment, and surely you’ll be going home sick before lunch. Are you still drunk? You’re walking funny, and I just noticed the scrapes on your forearm. You picked a fight didn’t you? You scum bag, you. You’re 25 and still getting into bar fights? Bet that will work out for you in the long term..
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