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I sleep through my alarm on Friday morning and arrive at work 20 minutes late. I don’t think this will be a big deal until a few hours later when I realize that I was supposed to have a project done and on one of my bosses’ desk by 8:30 a.m. at the latest.
I hate having to do work of any kind on Fridays because I am lazy and it’s only natural that it slipped my mind. To make matters worse, the coffee I make before I leave my apartment is way too strong. I make a mental note to start measuring coffee to water ratio more carefully in the future.
When I get into the office, my hope is that this particular boss doesn’t notice that I’m late with the project. But judging from two text messages and an e-mail that I get all at once, she absolutely does notice.
I get a verbal dressing down in her office and I walk back to my desk with my tail between my legs. I think about quitting constantly, but I always come back to the fact that rent is due at the end of every month and I need this job much more than they need me so I better shape up.
I was hoping for an easy, breezy Friday at the office but it’s looking like it’s going to be one of those days. They come every so often for everyone I think, and a lot of the time it really is out of your control.
It’s one of those days where you just cannot stop fucking up no matter how hard you try. It’s best to just sit back and let the mistakes pile in because resisting and trying to overcorrect is only going to make it worse.
I wish I would have listened to this advice on Friday, but that did not happen. I do a few more menial tasks around the office that are sub-standard in effort and riddled with tiny mistakes. All I want to do is get the fuck out of this hellhole, but the minutes are ticking by so slowly that I convince myself that the clocks in my office are broken. I don’t get yelled at for any of these errors, but I do get asked to re-do some of the stuff that I turn in and that’s almost worse than getting reprimanded.
I’m supposed to meet Megan and her friends out at a bar after work, but I have butterflies in my stomach thinking about it because I know that I’m going to carry this endless string of professional mistakes and miscues over into my social life. Around 4:00 p.m. I text her and ask if this happy hour get-together is still happening. Megan says yes and that she’s excited for me to meet everyone. I feel nauseous as I leave the office.
20 minutes and a positively horrible bus ride later, I’m home and I change out of my work clothes. I make two pieces of peanut butter toast and my Uber arrives before I have time to finish both of them.
I’m forced to bring one of the two pieces in the car with me, and my driver gives me a look like he doesn’t appreciate the fact that I’m eating toast in the back seat of his 2008 Honda Civic. I don’t give a shit, and I make sure to chew my toast as loud as possible on our way to the bar.
I’m a little peeved at this exchange inside of the Uber, and coupled with the fact that I had a bad day at work it really truly feels like I’m walking on eggshells as I enter the bar.
I exchange pleasantries with the four girls and two guys that Megan has assembled for drinks. The guys automatically snub me because I’m sure one of them was hoping to hook up with Megan. I get two vodka sodas and bring them back to the table for us.
One of the girls asks me what I do and as I’m trying to explain, she accidentally bumps my hand while getting her phone out of her jacket pocket and I spill my drink all over her leggings. They’re from Outdoor Voices or Lululemon I think, and I apologize profusely.
She says, “It’s fine,” but I can tell it’s not fine because she turns away from me and says something to the effect of, “Can you fucking believe this guy?”
I smirk for a brief moment, unable to comprehend that this girl is pissed about this. I tap her on the shoulder and say, “Hey, listen, I really am sorry about this, but it’s just vodka and soda water. It’s not going to stain your leggings.”
“Yeah, but I literally bought these today.”
“Okay, well, I’ve got some good news: There are some really nice Dyson hand dryers in the bathrooms if you want to go dry them off.”
She scoffs at me and walks up to the bar. Megan comes over from the other side of the table and tells me to stop being a dick. I reiterate that it’s just a vodka soda and that this was a legitimate accident. Megan says I’m being rude and that I need to apologize.
I go over to the bar, close my tab, and hail a cab to meet my buddies at another bar on the other side of town. I feel like I’ve done nothing wrong and I turn my phone off so I don’t have to read any texts from Megan or attempt to contact Blair..