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As I’ve stated before, I don’t drink coffee. I wake up on an average workday and am ready to go with no need for caffeine or artificial stimulants. I also don’t drink on weeknights, so I usually get a respectable seven hours of REM sleep and don’t wake up feeling like someone is prying my brain open with a crowbar. Tuesday night was different. I went on a date with a girl who we’ll call Gretchen, because that is her name. Gretchen is a cute girl who I had been texting for about two weeks, and for our date, I chose a nice Mexican restaurant because I figure if girl that can watch me slaughter a burrito and still want to hang out with me, she’s a keeper.
As we started looking at the menu, the topic of how different liquors cause different drunks came up, and she claimed she wasn’t used to drinking tequila and that it made her into a really weird drunk. Caught up in the moment, I decided that my “no weeknight drinking” rule was really more of a guideline and ordered us a pitched of margaritas to split. Immediately after taking my first sip I realized that this restaurant was not fucking around with their pours, and I understood why the waitress warned me that the pitchers were usually split by “four or five people…not two.” The date pretty much went off the rails at that point, and while I’m somewhat hazy of most of the following events, I do remember checking my phone and seeing that it was 4 a.m., also known as three hours before my alarm goes off. By the time my 45-minute train commute from hell had ended the next morning, I had surpassed the “I’m going to throw up on a stranger” stage of my hangover and was well into the “I have five remaining brain cells and I don’t know how to interact with other humans” stage. I decided there was only one way to salvage my day and actually be a productive employee: drink coffee for the first time. I asked my boss to show me how to work the Keurig (it’s way less complicated than I thought, I looked like an idiot), and chugged a steaming cup of something called Salted Caramel Brew. Here is how the rest of my day went.
8:01 a.m. – Wow, that tasted like shit. Oh well, nothing can be worse than the tequila burps I’ve been tossing out there all morning. I’m pretty sure my coworker visibly recoiled when I wished her a good morning. This better work because I have a shit ton to do today.
8:15 a.m. – This is bullshit. I’m not any more awake, and now I’m sweating from this hot ass drink I just chugged. I could not look more like I’m a crack addict going through withdrawals. Maybe if Theresa in accounting didn’t have the blood circulation of an eighty-year-old diabetic, the office thermostat wouldn’t be set at 71 fucking degrees. This is a place of business Theresa, not a Mumbai telemarketer center.
8:18 a.m. – Fuck. I thought this would barely affect me considering the amount of Red Bulls (cocaine) I’ve ingested in the past. Boy, was I wrong. My hands are twitchier than a meth head trying to crochet, and I can barely read my excel sheet because I think my eyeballs are vibrating in my skull.
9:00 a.m. – I legit think I’m going to die. My coworker has been glaring at me because my foot is twitching and shaking our shared desk, but I could not stop moving if I wanted to. I’m hammering away at the keyboard at an unprecedented rate, but I’m only hitting the correct keys like 40% of the time. I should preemptively email my boy in IT and have him hook me up with a new keyboard. Why is my stomach making that noise?
9:45 a.m. – I’ve been on the toilet so long that my legs have gone completely numb. I need to change my diet. Do I eat nothing but corn? I’ve beaten every game on my phone and the motion sensor lights have been off for the past ten minutes. It’s like I’m in a sensory deprivation chamber, except I very clearly still have my sense of smell. God, I hope the janitor doesn’t come in here. I would literally have to kill him to save both of us a lot of shame.
10:35 a.m. – I can see sounds and hear colors. I’m bouncing off the walls and I’ve stress tested my chair into oblivion. It was brand new a month ago and now it’s as squeaky and saggy as my old 1989 Volvo station wagon (nickname: Victor Von Volvmeister). My ADD is in full throttle, and I have not completed a single actual piece of work in the last two hours. I have reached an almost savant-like state of productivity when it comes to dicking around on the internet, though. I reread the entire Things Girls Do After Graduation series in like 20 minutes. Man, I hate the protagonist of that story. Christ, my stomach is in shambles.
11:00 a.m. – I somehow am back in the bathroom. I don’t even understand how I have anything left to push out. I’m pretty sure I just passed a jar of mashed carrots I was fed when I was eight months old. My phone is already at 60% due to the amount of YouTube videos I’ve been watching in here.
11:45 a.m. – If I don’t eat something in the next five minutes, I’m going to implode. I skipped breakfast because I’m an idiot and the only things in my stomach are margaritas and fucking coffee. God, that would make the world’s worst drink. Glad I have my shitty packed lunch of chicken and roasted veggies to look forward to. I should go out to eat and not be a broken man.
12:30 p.m. – I think I’m going to survive. That lunch helped absorb some of the tequila lingering in my stomach, and the caffeine is doing what it should now. I’m actually being really productive; my boss even gave me a “good job” on my last project. Maybe all those coffee drinkers are on to something.
2:30 p.m. – Never mind. That two-hour meeting was a fucking nightmare. I’m pretty sure my boss noticed I was head bobbing in an attempt to stay awake. The sweet jolt of caffeine has left my veins, and I am returned to a shell of my former self. I’m about to take a Costanza and nap under my desk; open space office layout be damned.
3:30 p.m. – Close enough. I’m calling it for the day before anyone tries to send me a “happy hour?’ text and I fold like clean laundry. My hands are still jittery and I fear they will never return to normal. There goes my skill at bar Jenga. Damn you coffee, what won’t you take from me? .
Image via Shutterstock
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Nick Arcadia
The opposite of a life coach. Email or DM me if you want some bad advice: nickarcadiapgp@gmail.com
@noampao
noamio
Classic mistake of not following up your morning coffee with an afternoon coffee. You crashed my man. Start the day with an 8-830am coffee. You’re shitting at about 11am, right in time to clear the body of all toxins prior to lunch. Then ingest a post-lunch coffee (1pm, depending on your lunch). And if you’re working past 6, make sure you have a 4pm coffee and you’ll leave the office feeling like a million bucks. Then by the time you get home, you have just enough energy to throw in a tv dinner and turn on the flix. You’re passed out by 11pm and ready to tackle another day.
The only reason I drink so many cups during the day is to have an excuse to leave my desk for five minute to go to the Keurig
I usually try to fill the container with the coldest water too just for the extra few seconds it will take to heat up. PGP.
Don’t forget the piss breaks
Mixing Mexican food and coffee will definitely bring on some neverending poops. You played a dangerous game there.
forget hunting man, this is the true most dangerous game.
“I wake up on an average workday and am ready to go with no need for caffeine or artificial stimulants.”
I don’t think you grasp how rare this is. Steve Irwin (RIP) should be stalking your ass from 3 cubes away, talking into the camera about this rare mythical creature that can somehow turn willpower into morning energy. Meanwhile, my coherence could be described as “meets minimum expectations” after cup #3 of Death Wish.
Never start drinking it then you don’t need it is my philosophy. I’m sure one day I will give in like the rest of my job site but that day is not today.
Exactly! Coffee is just a fucking crutch, for those who give in. If you drink a cup or two a day for pleasure, fine. Just don’t breath on me. But if you are one of the fuckers whiny “I just can’t function without my first cup…” you need to shut the fuck up.
Get up and go for a walk or a jog. That’ll wake ya up. Or walk to work or ride a bike. Problem solved. Oxygenated and awake.
Get out. Just get the fuck out and go back to your ivory tower.
You need to shut the fuck up.
Where is stock photo girl of the week?
Yikes. Maybe try it on a non-hangover day when you’re not trying to get tequila out of your system and see if you like it better. I’m practically immune to it at this point so I drink it more for enjoyment than using it as a stimulant. Better luck next time, Nick.
First mistake is not sizzling while at a Mexican food joint. I’m at the point in my coffee consumption career where idk where to go from here. Coffee to me now is like brown water from the Flint, Michigan. I’ve contemplated graduating to cocaine but it’s expensive and doesn’t last long enough. I’m now thinking about progressing into meth but I don’t have good enough health insurance. Looks like I’ll just have to die or something and not have to worry about making huge life decisions. Will advise later, hopefully.
I heard Molly was fun.
Can confirm, work is much more fun on Molly.
Hey everyone, I’m back. I’ve decided to grow up instead of die.
My tolerance level is such that coffee won’t wake me up anymore. However, I thoroughly enjoy the stuff, and the thought of coffee makes getting up much more tolerable.
I’m hitting 14 cups a day, not sure I want to know the ramifications.
calling bullshit
Coffee pot is 14 cups and I usually finish it. A few cups hot and then I pour the rest over ice.
You sir, will be enjoying some stomach ulcers in your future. I hear they’re quite lovely.
You should just switch to straight caffeine pills
Proofread these columns, guys.