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Last week I went out for wings and beers with a few coworkers after a particularly rough day at work. One pitcher turned into four pitchers, one bar turned into three bars, and before I knew it, the marimba ringtone I have grown to hate ripped me out of my heavy drunken slumber like a giant toddler breaking down the door and screaming in my face. I blindly fumbled for my phone to snooze my alarm four times until I could no longer delay the inevitable. I had to get my disheveled ass to work.
Realizing I was still in my work clothes from the day before, I turned the shower on and hung my head over the sink. I stepped into the shower and tried to get my mind into a space in which I could at least put up a facade of presentability. What if the first words I speak to a human are muffled by the telltale post-bender rasp? Can I blame my bloodshot eyes on allergies? Why do bars insist on stamping my wrists with ink that can withstand a fucking acid bath? Can I call in sick? Fuck, I went out with coworkers; I wouldn’t dare be the one to call in sick.
I mentally went through my calendar for the day. I had to lead a 10 a.m. meeting with the partners. I had to hit a deadline for a client at noon. In my condition. How could I be so stupid? When will I stop letting myself get shit-housed on work nights? When will I grow a single ounce of self-restraint? Suddenly, the pressure and self-loathing became too much and I broke down. I sat under the stream of water, put my face in my hands, and wept.
Not just a couple of cute little tears. There was nothing cute about it. Full on sobs could be heard from my bathroom. Like Tobias Funke after his wife got the gig he wanted. I then became even more distraught because I was crying. I cried more. This vicious cycle lasted about five minutes – a precious amount of time considering my snoozing hadn’t left myself with much.
I am not a crier, normally. I abide by the Ron Swanson rule of crying: acceptable at funerals and the Grand Canyon. I amend it to include getting pulled over and any time Alicia Keys sings the national anthem, but crying is generally not within my ready wheelhouse of reactions.
However, in this moment I realized I had been severely underrating its benefits. Crying is the single most cathartic activity a person can do. In my particular event of an imminent work hangover of colossal proportions, crying my eyes out provided a welcome relief. I was learning that emotional detox can be just as effective as a physical detox.
Once I made this realization, I decided I was going to get my money’s worth. I cried about being due for a dental checkup. I cried about having to get new tires soon. My childhood cat that died 16 years ago? He got some tears. The potatoes I burnt in the oven last week? Poured some out for those little homies. Every slight mishap or inconvenience I could recall in that moment flowed through my soul, emptied out of my eyes, and washed down the shower drain.
After a few more minutes of ugly bawling, I sacked up enough to escape my warm, steamy sanctuary. I got dressed, ran a comb through my wet hair, and hit the road slightly more ready to take on the day. Physically, I still felt simultaneously like I needed to eat a double-double from In-N-Out and like I needed to vomit, but emotionally, I felt refreshed.
If I were to offer a takeaway, I would suggest crying in the shower the next time you feel crushed under the massive boulder that is a work hangover. It won’t solve any of your actual problems, but it will lighten your emotional load. And at the very least, it’s better than crying at your desk..
Image via Shutterstock
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Best
Best specializes in making fun of men and wondering why she is still single. She has over 6,000 followers on Periscope, the reason for which she has yet to figure out. Her Tinder bio once went viral for including a pretty mediocre fart joke. Neither of these events she allows anyone in her life to forget.
@WhatTheHellTina
@t_mihel
tina_mihel
This happens to me a lot except I’ve become so numb that my body is unable to produce the saline to make tears so I basically just sit in the shower and stare off straight ahead with a stoic look on my face trying not to drown in the falling water as I breath as Stranger Things-esque music plays in the back ground. Can’t really tell if it’s in my head or if it’s from the TV in the other room because my life has basically become a failing sitcom that’s reached syndication on all non-prime time hours.
I always worry about slipping an breaking my neck on the edge of the tub and how long it would take someone to find my waterlogged remains, thereby leaving me unable to have a open casket. After having been missing from work and my small and limited amount of socials circles i run in….is that all there is to life no meaning, no great purpose in us?…..But then i think this could all be solved by the purchase of a 10 dollar shower mat but f it i like to live dangerously and test the uncertainty and roll the dice on this fools game we call life because even when you roll 11’s the snake’s eyes are watching you and at any moment can come sweeping down and severing the mortal tether we call life.
Lol. Did we just join forces to take over the PGP culture? Or are you cleverly mocking me? Either way, touché my friend.
Yes we did…and winter is coming to PGP culture
Logged in specifically to tell you guys that I am legitimately angry that I read all of this nonsense.
Even the cut worm forgives the plow
Word, thanks.
I’ve never found you more attractive than i do now @best sup?
As far as bar stamps go I’ve found ethanol to work pretty well. If you’re crying in the shower goes I’d also throw in a dedicated “sad time” body wash to clean up after. I now associate lavender with that post-misery hopeful feeling, which does make for awkward encounters with air fresheners sometimes but I’m pretty sure I cry during a hangover more than my friends use air fresheners anyways.
That’s a weirdly depressing kind of genius. I’m into it.
Is getting shit faced until 3AM on a Tuesday becoming a normal thing now?
No. That’s alcoholism.
From the articles that get posted here it sounds like our generation may have a drinking problem (I don’t believe 90% of them).
From the comment you posted it sounds like you might have a life problem.