(Tell me Why) I Don't Like Mondays
Most committed drunks have experienced the anti-hangover. Waking up and finding yourself feeling unexpectedly perky - despite the six hour drinking mission you embarked upon immediately on leaving work the previous day. It takes some time for the reality of the situation to sink in. You're drunk, and in a few hours you will find yourself sweating whisky and praying for the sweet, healing embrace of sleep, death or another drink.
Many committed drunks will also have found themselves in this proud mental state whilst at work. In my three year stretch with my current employer, I have experienced this trauma many times. Unfortunately I am not a good drunk. Any night out with my fellow employees will almost inevitably lead to a series of stories of problems I have had whilst in the arms of alcohol. I will attempt to document some of those little faux-pas that can only occur when alcohol and labour meet here.
I have twice been loudly sick in the toilets which are separated from our kitchen by a thin wall when senior members of staff were meeting in the kitchen. On returning to my desk I made it quite clear that this was not due to physical illness.
I once wore a T-Shirt inside out for a substantial portion of the day. This was spotted by a colleague rather than myself. Indeed, I would likely never have spotted this error.
I have pretended a computer keyboard was instead a musical one and attempted to play it, including making appropriate noises.
Checking our office shared calendar one drunken morning, I spotted an entry that had obviously been edited.
"MG in late, dropping kids off at the pool." Sadly, the obviousness of the prank was well beyond my fried synapses. I laughed, then decided my flatmate would love to see what this dumb bastard had put on the calendar. Fortunately for me, the descriptive email was relatively tame:
"Dude, this dude's taking two hours off work to take a shit. Is there something wrong with his ass we should know about?"
Peter hits send. Peter realises he has typed in the name of the person (his manager) who added the calendar entry and sent him the above email. Peter sits trying to find a good explanation for this for an hour until the manager arrives. Peter owns up to his mistake. "I'm a fucking idiot", Peter claims.
Whilst attempting to get some refreshing water from the cooler, I drifted off into creating a survival plan for the day, poured around a litre of water on the floor, then on instinct dropped my cup to cover the error. I dropped the cup around a foot from the large puddle I had already created.
I was once sat at my desk, preparing for a quiet day of pretending to work, when my manager approached:
M: Did we have a drink last night Peter?
PO'P: Yes, a couple. How did you know?
M: You fell over your desk as you walked in.
Arriving at work an hour late and in complete disarray - it had rained the night before and I had tossed and turned my way through a drunken nights sleep, leaving my wet hair in an interesting new style. I had woken up with a T-shirt in a bowl filled with puke next to my bed. As I had walked to the bathroom I had fallen over in the hallway. I could remember literally nothing about the night before. The best approach was to get to work as quickly as possible. I did so, then sat at my desk with my head in my hands.
My technical director approached:
TD: Are you Ok Peter? You look drunk.
PO'P: I'm not fucking drunk.
TD: ....
I have a text message to my flatmate stored on my phone from this morning:
"Dude this is the most drunk I hat [sic] ever been at work. I smell of puke. What the fuck? People are laughing at me."
Once, having had some dodgy pints mixed into the wash and having constant beer farts, I slightly befouled myself whilst sat at my desk. I then say giggling about it for around five minutes before attending to the situation in the toilets. It is a matter of no small pride to me that no one in the office noticed this.
One morning I realised attending work was not an option. I called in sick:
PO'P:<Slurring noticably> Hi it's Peter. I'm not going to be coming in today.
SEC: Ok, are you sick, or...
PO'P: I'm really fucking sick. I've been sick. Erm...Fucking everywhere...
SEC: <Pause followed by a slight sigh> Ok, Peter, bye.
With my inability to learn any kind of lesson, no doubt further incidents will occur. I find it confusing that I have yet to be sacked, have an office intervention, or even any kind of disciplinary action taken against me. Can they not hear my slurred cries for help?
Many committed drunks will also have found themselves in this proud mental state whilst at work. In my three year stretch with my current employer, I have experienced this trauma many times. Unfortunately I am not a good drunk. Any night out with my fellow employees will almost inevitably lead to a series of stories of problems I have had whilst in the arms of alcohol. I will attempt to document some of those little faux-pas that can only occur when alcohol and labour meet here.
I have twice been loudly sick in the toilets which are separated from our kitchen by a thin wall when senior members of staff were meeting in the kitchen. On returning to my desk I made it quite clear that this was not due to physical illness.
I once wore a T-Shirt inside out for a substantial portion of the day. This was spotted by a colleague rather than myself. Indeed, I would likely never have spotted this error.
I have pretended a computer keyboard was instead a musical one and attempted to play it, including making appropriate noises.
Checking our office shared calendar one drunken morning, I spotted an entry that had obviously been edited.
"MG in late, dropping kids off at the pool." Sadly, the obviousness of the prank was well beyond my fried synapses. I laughed, then decided my flatmate would love to see what this dumb bastard had put on the calendar. Fortunately for me, the descriptive email was relatively tame:
"Dude, this dude's taking two hours off work to take a shit. Is there something wrong with his ass we should know about?"
Peter hits send. Peter realises he has typed in the name of the person (his manager) who added the calendar entry and sent him the above email. Peter sits trying to find a good explanation for this for an hour until the manager arrives. Peter owns up to his mistake. "I'm a fucking idiot", Peter claims.
Whilst attempting to get some refreshing water from the cooler, I drifted off into creating a survival plan for the day, poured around a litre of water on the floor, then on instinct dropped my cup to cover the error. I dropped the cup around a foot from the large puddle I had already created.
I was once sat at my desk, preparing for a quiet day of pretending to work, when my manager approached:
M: Did we have a drink last night Peter?
PO'P: Yes, a couple. How did you know?
M: You fell over your desk as you walked in.
Arriving at work an hour late and in complete disarray - it had rained the night before and I had tossed and turned my way through a drunken nights sleep, leaving my wet hair in an interesting new style. I had woken up with a T-shirt in a bowl filled with puke next to my bed. As I had walked to the bathroom I had fallen over in the hallway. I could remember literally nothing about the night before. The best approach was to get to work as quickly as possible. I did so, then sat at my desk with my head in my hands.
My technical director approached:
TD: Are you Ok Peter? You look drunk.
PO'P: I'm not fucking drunk.
TD: ....
I have a text message to my flatmate stored on my phone from this morning:
"Dude this is the most drunk I hat [sic] ever been at work. I smell of puke. What the fuck? People are laughing at me."
Once, having had some dodgy pints mixed into the wash and having constant beer farts, I slightly befouled myself whilst sat at my desk. I then say giggling about it for around five minutes before attending to the situation in the toilets. It is a matter of no small pride to me that no one in the office noticed this.
One morning I realised attending work was not an option. I called in sick:
PO'P:
SEC: Ok, are you sick, or...
PO'P: I'm really fucking sick. I've been sick. Erm...Fucking everywhere...
SEC:
With my inability to learn any kind of lesson, no doubt further incidents will occur. I find it confusing that I have yet to be sacked, have an office intervention, or even any kind of disciplinary action taken against me. Can they not hear my slurred cries for help?
posted by Peter O'Phile at
8:45 pm
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