12 Rounds with a Mai-Tai !!!

"I feel like ass!"

Maybe it was something in the food. It really is the only solution that even begins to sound reasonable.

Sure, we had a lot to drink the night before. Sure, I had 4 Vodka Gimlets, 4 Blue Hawaiian's, 2 shots of Tequila, a shot of Sambuca and a Hurricane. Sure, I was drunk; we all were -- but we all managed to make it home in one piece. We collapsed drunk in our respective homes and no one woke up in a pool of vomit or feces.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty average evening.

The problems began the next morning. To say that I was hung over would be a bit of an understatement. It was all I could do to keep from falling over in the shower -- but I managed. As always, I make the drive to the office and stumble to my desk wiping the last fragments of sleep from my eye, praying that it will be a calm and uneventful day.

Initially things seemed to be alright. My head was clearing and I didn't feel quite so dizzy -- that's when it hit me!

You know the feeling you get in the bottom of your stomach, the one that runs cold through your colon when the urgency of nature's call hits you like a freight train? Yeah, it was like that. While I wasn't to bothered at first the uneasiness in my bowels and the queasy feeling in my stomach motivated me to make plans for a rather short trip to the bathroom.

As soon as I laid eyes on the toilet the pipes backed up and the dam burst. The sting of stomach acid burned my nose and throat as the vomit sailed across the room and into the bowl. Doubled over and heaving I could feel the blood rushing to my head and pressing hard against the back of my eye.

The convulsions didn't last long, but I was absolutely spent. It was only six-thirty in the morning but I felt as though I'd just gone 12 rounds with George Foreman. I lie there on the cold bathroom tile, staring up at the ceiling wondering if I should go back to my desk or just call it quits and go home for the day.

In the end, I decided to go home. Of course, that involved me going to my supervisor and telling him I was sick and needed someone to cover my shift. During my search for the boss I ran into a couple of co-workers that had been out to the bar as well. One young lady (Linda), who had certainly consumed her fair share of alcohol the night before, seemed perfectly fine. While my other co-worker (Mike) looked as green as I did.

"I feel like ass! -- and you look like one."

I really wasn't up for this kind of banter at such an ungodly hour, especially not with the taste of bile and grenadine still lingering between my teeth; I simply announced that I was sick and was going home for the day. There were nods and raised eyebrows but no one carried the conversation much further.

"It must have been the nachos." I heard Mike say as I dragged my weak and weary body back to the car for the trip home.

EPILOGUE:

It wasn't until I got home and looked in the mirror that I realized what Mike had meant when he'd said I looked like ass. The capillaries in my ears and nose had burst and so had the blood vessels around my eye. I really did look like I'd had the shit beaten out of me -- I looked like ass.

The next day I had a black eye (I won't even begin to describe what things looked like underneath the patch) and what looked like a rash on my cheeks and nose.

Imagine trying to explain that one to the boss.

Mind Your Own Business

Mind Your Own Business!

I tend to mind my own business.

William S. Burroughs called it M.O.B. mentality and said that this world would be a much better place if everyone could just mind their own business and let others do the same.

It's a profound statement and I whole-heartedly agree with it.

Unfortunately, there are a great many people in this office that can't mind their own business, or rather they feel that I don't seem to have enough of my own business to mind; so I need all of theirs as well. This wouldn't bother me so much if it was coming from a person that I had even the slightest affinity toward. In this case however, I could only hope to be so lucky.

It's a day just like any other day. It's far to early for any reasonable human being to actually be out of bed, to say nothing of actually having to be at the job. In my case we have to assume that I bear no resemblance to anyone of sound mind as it's 5:30am and I'm already at work; trying desperately not to fall asleep in my chair.

By 7:00am there should be someone with me. I would say partner but that would denote a level of fondness for the person that I do no currently possess. Regardless, it's 7:00am and as per usual my co-worker is late. Late today, late yesterday, late everyday that she's expected to be in the office. I have to drive 35 miles through the hellish Nebraska freeway system and she has to drive 3 - (through town I might add). I'm usually 15 minutes early... she's always that late... sometimes more than that.

I feel fortunate if I actually get a phone call. Of course, when I do I just want to slap her when she tells me she's out getting coffee.

It must be said that today, this day, is my first day back after being on vacation for three weeks and sick for one. I've had an entire month off and already I can feel the despair settle in upon my soul and the crushing weight of hopelessness squeezing the life from my body.

7:25am she walks thorough the door; a brief exchange of hellos and all is silent. We sit back to back and not a word is spoken between us. Could this be bliss?

No.

8:00am "You are not going to believe how miserable my life has been this last month."

Oh, I'd believe it; I believe it because I know you're insane. I sit silently, hoping that my lack of response would be enough to say that I'm not interested. I should have known better.

"I have this really long and horrible story to tell you about what's happened to me that I just HAVE to tell you about."

Never, have I given this woman any indication that I was in the slightest bit interested in her life or what she has to say. I hear the long slow breath being drawn, preparing for the tirade that would certainly herald the demise of my sanity.

RING

RING

I have never been so thrilled to hear the sound of the telephone. The bell that would prove to be my saviour. At least it was for a few hours.