Waiting For Happy Hour

Waiting For Happy Hour

He looked in the lower right screen of his work-issued laptop and took note of the time: 4:30 p.m. He looked again five minutes later: 4:31 p.m. He waited a little bit longer this time, ten minutes later, before looking again: 4:32 p.m.

Time refused to move faster. On the contrary, it had apparently resolved to move slower. These were the last thirty minutes in the office on Friday, and these were the longest thirty minutes of his life.

Tick, tick, tick. He wasn’t sure what took longer – two minutes in the microwave, two minutes on the treadmill, or two minutes at work on Friday afternoon. Hell, it was faster for his ex-girlfriend to give up and fake her finish than it was to sit at his desk and watch time stand still on his computer’s taskbar. Tick, tick, tick.

He tried to think of ways to occupy himself. Surf the net? Check, already did that. Some Reddit, Cracked, and a few risky clicks later, he still had access to his company’s internet, but he was bored of the sites he would typically visit. Online shopping? He had looked into some sales on Man Outfitters when he got into work in the morning – he had a policy that he wouldn’t be productive before 9 a.m. Check out Kanye’s new album? Can’t give Yeezy that satisfaction. Joe Rogan’s newest podcast? Listened to that in the car this morning.

He was indeed out of ways to occupy himself. He was doomed to remain bored for his remaining thirty minutes left at work. He was so desperate he debated trolling the comments section of a Yahoo! News article, but refrained from such an endeavor.

He had one option left: to spend his last thirty minutes in the office being productive. Death would almost be a better alternative.

He opened his To-Do List for a list of the tasks that remained outstanding. In fact, he hadn’t even opened the file at all that day. From the moment he got in that morning, he was inundated with conversations about how the work week had gone for his coworkers, all the work they didn’t plan on doing that Friday, how they were going to finish up their work over the weekend instead, which actually translates to, “I’ll do it Monday morning.” Shooting the shit with his coworkers about client stories and weekend activities was more important than getting work done. Even if he wanted to be productive, the level of noise would have slowed his efforts, but the knowledge of the weekend being right around the corner kept him from wanting to be productive, anyway. Now, at the end of the day, he was set to begin working on his duties, with no attention span or work ethic left for the week.

“3. Write an e-mail to my manager thanking him for giving me the opportunity to participate in on-campus recruiting for the company.”

“This will be an easy job and should probably keep me busy for ten minutes… Ten minutes… 5:00… Happy hour… Jack and Ginger… Redbull Vodka…”

While he was writing the e-mail, his mind started to trail off, drifting to the drinks he’d be consuming in just a short while. Before he knew it, he had typed up an e-mail less about recruiting and more about drinking.

“Good afternoon James,

I wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity to participate in a Friday afternoon of hard drinking. It means a lot to me to not only be able to go back to my college campus to recruit talent to help the company grow, but to also get experience to help my career progress into what are the chances you can bring a girl home from happy hour? How drunk or desperate do you think she’d have to be? Maybe there still are some lingering insecurities from Valentine’s Day. I think I could do it. I’m going to try it today.

I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here,

[Stock Signature]”

He half-ass proof-read the e-mail and was about to hit send when the time on his laptop flipped over to 5:00. It was time to go. The e-mail would sit in his “Drafts” folder until Monday morning because honestly, he wasn’t doing any work over the weekend. He was saved by five o’clock. It was time for happy hour.

Image via Shutterstock

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Chit Chat

After a 1.5 year victory lap at the University of Florida, Chit Chat has spent every day since contemplating life as a bartender on an obscure beach while he sits at his desk in his office in Tampa, Florida. Hobbies include writing, drinking, complaining, spending money he doesn't have, undergoing therapy at the church of weight lifting, and "consulting", whatever that means.

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