Inside The Mind Of A Hungover Worker

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Friday 12:17 AM, 0.17 BAC

Shit. I’ve already had way too much to drink. I’m at a crossroads. I can call it a night now, try to get home as quickly as possible, and pass out, like a quasi-responsible adult or a functioning alcoholic would, or I can say “fuck it” and fully commit to this night.

Friday 12:21 AM, 0.17 BAC

Goddammit, Nick just bought shots of Rumple Mintz.

Friday, 12:23 AM, 0.22 BAC

Fuck it. I’m committed.

Now that I have minty breath and am too drunk to worry about getting shot down, I might as well try to get laid.

Friday 12:35 AM, 0.23 BAC

About to take tequila shots with some hot (?…eh I don’t even care anymore) girl. It’s in the bag.

Friday 12:40 AM – 8:27 AM, 0.27 BAC (and slightly dropping)

N/A

Friday 8:28 AM, 0.20 BAC

Guhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

What happened? Where am I? Is this my house? Oh fuck, it’s 8:30am. FUCK.

Friday 8:30 AM, 0.20 BAC

I have confirmed that this is my house by slamming my shin into the coffee table while getting out of bed. Apparently I moved it next to my bed to ravenously devour what appears to be at least $14 worth of Taco Bell.

Also, it does not appear anyone came home with me. Dammit. Or maybe that was for the best. I don’t even know.

Friday 8:33 AM, 0.20 BAC

Puked in the shower.

Friday 8:40 AM, 0.20 BAC

Out of clean shirts. Grabbed the least wrinkled one and put it on.

Friday 8:49 AM, 0.20 BAC

Why is this tie so hard to tie!?!?!

Friday 8:52 AM, 0.20 BAC

I probably shouldn’t be driving right now. I DEFINITELY shouldn’t be speeding.

Friday 8:59 AM, 0.19 BAC

Fucking traffic. Fucking sunlight. All stimuli make me want to puke. If I had a pistol in my glovebox I’d blow my brains out right now.

Friday 9:17 AM, 0.19 BAC

Just got scolded by my boss for being nearly twenty minutes late to work. Whatever, being only twenty minutes late is actually a victory. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall asleep in the shower, fall and die in the shower, get in a car accident, convince myself to stop at McDonald’s for three McGriddles, or simply sleep through the twelve alarms I set.

Nick made it in on time, apparently. That piece of shit. This is all his fault. HE convinced me to go to the happy hour. HE convinced me to have some drinks with dinner. HE convinced me to stay out and meet those girls he knew. HE bought shots. What an asshole. How did he get here on time?! He doesn’t even look hungover. Meanwhile, three people have already commented on my appearance, and I’m getting a lot of looks. I can smell the Bud Light on my breath. Oh God, it’s making me sick.

Friday 9:19 AM, 0.17 BAC

Just puked in the bathroom. Tried to do it as fast as I could so that no one would catch me puking. Hurt a rib in the process. I’m praying for the sweet release of death.

Friday 9:27 AM, 0.17 BAC

Nick just greeted me with a “Jesus Christ you look like shit. And nice tie, asshole. You never tie one before?”

I feel dead inside.

Friday 9:45 AM, 0.17 BAC

Nick asked me if I remembered what happened last night. I said no. He goes, “HO-LY FUCK. I gotta tell you.” By “tell me” he meant tell everyone I guess, since he called over like ten other people to listen.

Apparently after we took our first round of Rumple Mintz I started talking to some girls. I guess they weren’t really into me because I was so drunk. Nick said I creeped them out pretty bad. He claims I kept insisting on trying all of the girls’ drinks to “see who had the best taste.” Why would I do that? I bet Nick’s making it up. What a cock. Anyway, he says the girls thought I was trying to roofie them. He says I finally convinced one girl to take shots of tequila with me, but she told me to go get them and bring them back. Nick also claims she looked like a linebacker had a daughter with a dead witch. He’s really throwing me under the bus. As soon as I left, the girls bolted. When I turned around and saw that they were gone, I took both shots of tequila. I think I vaguely remember that, actually.

According to Nick, when I realized the girls had left I got pissed off and started getting sort of aggressive. Apparently, I started condescendingly calling all the bartenders “champ,” and “chief,” and “pal,” while snapping my fingers and clapping at them. I also bought drinks for literally ever girl who was near me, but Nick says they were all creeped out by how drunk I was too, so they’d just take the drinks and run away.

Shit, how many drinks did I buy? I need to check my balance.

When the bar announced last call and turned on the lights Nick says I got real angry, ran to the nearest switch, and shut as many as I could back off. That’s when they threw me out while I screamed, “You’re already closed you fucking idiots, who cares!?!” The bouncers threw me on the curb anyway. Is that why my shoulder hurts?

Nick says he lost me after that because he went home “with some dime.” Whatever, Nick. I called him out on that bullshit.

Friday 9:47 AM, 0.17 BAC

Nick just pulled out his phone and showed everyone pics he took of the girl last night. She’s a ten, easily. Goddamit.

Friday 10:30 AM, 0.14 BAC

I have gotten absolutely nothing done. I’m segueing from morning drunk into full on hungover. I need to eat. I need to sleep. I need to not be feeling this way. I would do anything to not feel the way I do right now.

Oh God, my stomach.

Friday 10:33 AM, 0.14 BAC

In the handicapped stall in the bathroom firing pure rotten lava out of my anus. It smells like a Calcutta landfill in here and it feels like someone is pulling razorwire out of me to a soundtrack provided by the world’s worst trumpet player.

Dammit someone just came in. I can’t let anyone else hear this. Have to hold it in until they leave to save myself the embarrassment.

He just breathed heavily and coughed. I think he smelled the genocide.

He just sat down in the stall next to me! NO! WHY! There were three other stalls. You KNEW I was in here! Please be fast.

Friday 10:34 AM, 0.14 BAC

Guhhhh. Why isn’t this guy finished!?! It’s been like ten minutes, hasn’t it? I’m breaking out in a cold sweat. I can’t hold it anymore.

Friday 10:40 AM, 0.13 BAC

The jerk in the stall next to me made a comment about my beer shits. Turns out it was that 40-year-old named Bill from HR. That guy takes the worst craps in the office. They’re legend around the office park. How does he have the audacity to say that I had a “pretty rough BM.” Shut up, Bill. And nobody wants to talk when they’re in the bathroom.

Friday 11:00 AM, 0.13 BAC

I can’t take it anymore, I’m taking my lunch break early. I’m eating as quickly as possible and then taking a nap in my car.

Friday 11:05 AM, 0.13 BAC

Goddammit! Nick just saw me leaving and reminded me we have a lunch meeting. I can’t go another hour without food. Maybe if I sleep the pain will go away for awhile, but I think I might be in too much pain to sleep. Fuck it, I’m sleeping in the bathroom.

Friday 11:09 AM, 0.13 BAC

As I was walking back into the bathroom Bill passed by and spotted me. Said, “Again already? Not feelin’ so hot, huh?”

I hope Bill dies.

Friday 11:11 AM, 0.12 BAC

It’s 11:11. My wish is for this all to be over. Thankfully that massive, painful crap I took and the stress from constant hangover pain have exhausted me. I’m actually falling asleep…

Friday 12:13 PM, 0.09 BAC

What happened? Where am I? Oh fuck it’s 12:13! Lunch is in five minutes. I have three missed calls from Nick and a text that says, “WTF where are you? Fucking lock it up.”

Friday 12:20 PM, 0.09 BAC

Ran out to my car and booked it to the restaurant. It’s a Mexican place called Julio’s. Who the hell are we meeting here? All I want for lunch is a 7 Up and Pepto Bismol.

Friday 12:35 PM, 0.09 BAC

Got to the restaurant and Nick said, “Look who decided to show up! This guy’s a real piece of work. Don’t worry, asshole, we ordered a you marg.”

I told them to give me a minute because I had to go to the bathroom.

Friday 12:37 PM, 0.06 BAC

Puked in the restaurant bathroom. The sight of those margaritas was sickening.

Friday 12:40 PM, 0.08 BAC

Slowly sipping on my margarita. I can’t really comprehend anything I’m seeing or hearing. I’m shellshocked, like Tom Hanks on Omaha Beach in Saving Private Ryan. People are talking, I have no idea what they’re saying. I keep drinking the margarita. My body hates me. I have a problem.

Friday 12:50 PM, 0.10 BAC

Finished the margarita. FUCK I FEEL GREAT!

I’m ordering another.

Friday 12:55 PM, 0.15 BAC

Crushed that second margarita. Nick told me to “take it easy, champ.” YOU ordered me the margarita, dick. The clients aren’t really making eye contact with me anymore.

Friday 12:57 PM, 0.15 BAC

A manager just came up to our table and said, “Senor, we have to ask you to leave. A busboy said he saw you walk into the women’s restroom and vomit.”

Nick just shook his head. The clients said they’d be in touch.

Friday 1:30 PM, 0.13 BAC

Back at the office OF COURSE Nick tells everyone the story. He completely exaggerated too. Then Bill walks by and hears and says, “You’ve been having some rough times in bathrooms today, huh?” I told Bill to shut up. Nick asked what Bill was talking about, so Bill told him about how I was “Grunting a pretty rough stinker.” Nick started crying laughing.

I want Bill to die at my own hands.

Friday 2:00 PM, 0.10 BAC

It feels like all the ‘roided out baseball players of the ’90s are swinging sledgehammers inside my skull. I’m pretty sure my boss is aware that I haven’t done any work today. Also, for some ungodly reason, despite the fact that my office is air conditioned, I can feel the heat from outside and I’m sweating in my 68 degree office.

Friday 2:30 PM, 0.09 BAC

Nick just asked if I wanted to do a happy hour. Couldn’t tell if he was serious or making fun of me. Either way, fuck you, Nick.

Friday 3:00 PM, 0.08 BAC

3pm is close enough to 5pm for me to officially stop working. I kind of want to go to that happy hour now. Goddammit, I do have a problem. Whatever. If I’m gonna drink, I need more rest. Time for another bathroom snooze.

Friday 3:14 PM, 0.07 BAC

Apparently Bill is just hanging out at the bathroom today, because I saw him AGAIN and he made a comment AGAIN. I couldn’t take it anymore and shouted, “GODDAMMIT BILL! What I do in the bathroom is my own fucking business!”

Forgot that Bill was in HR. Says to see him in his office “after I’m done.”

Fuck it, I’m still taking a nap. It’s not like he can get upset with me for taking too long in the bathroom. Plus he thinks I’m sick already.

Friday 3:47 PM, 0.04 BAC

Woke up almost sober, but someone was knocking on the door. It was Bill. He said he heard snoring. Told him that was my BM. Bill said he was listening for nearly ten minutes and that it sounded “too consistent” to be sounds from a bowel movement. I asked Bill why he was listening for ten minutes, and when exactly he became an expert on the sounds of BMs. He didn’t have an answer.

I told Bill I didn’t have time to meet with him because of a “deadline” and went back to my desk. Fuck Bill. Fuck HR.

Friday 4:32 PM, 0.02 BAC

Almost sober. Still exhausted, but my head doesn’t hurt as much and I’m starting to feel like a human being. Maybe this day wasn’t so bad after all? No, this day was one of the worst I’ve ever had in my life.

Friday 5:01 PM, 0.00 BAC

This office can officially eat a dick. I’m OUT! Time for happy hour.

Friday 5:30 PM, 0.01 BAC

And it begins again. I love you, alcohol. Nick brought out some chicks from the pharmaceutical company on the other side of the office park. He’s not such a bad guy.

Friday 5:33 PM, 0.02 BAC

Nick just goes, “So do you ladies have anything you can prescribe my buddy here, he’s got an upset stomach,” and then proceeded to tell them about my entire day. Fuck you, Nick. Goddammit.

Screw this, I’m getting drunk.

78

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Rob Fox

Rob Fox is a Senior Writer for Total Frat Move (as Bacon), Rowdy Gentleman, and Post Grad Problems. He is a graduate, without honors, from the University of Missouri. From St. Louis originally, he currently lives in Austin, Texas, and still has not admitted to his family what he does for a living. He is also prone to having wet nightmares ever since losing his virginity in a haunted house. Email: rob@grandex.co

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