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I don’t remember a lot from last night. I know that the TFM crew went out and partied with the guys from BroBible. I know that I drank a Trops-esque drink that everyone who isn’t from Mizzou (so, uh, everyone) made fun of me for. I know that I sloppily and unsuccessfully hit on some Tri-Delts from Oregon who inexplicably came to Austin for their spring break. And I know that I literally almost came to blows with a 5’2” Pakistani cab driver (I’m so badass) over whether or not he took debit cards. All of that is to say I got really really drunk last night.
Which leads me to today. I am really really hungover. I didn’t even get into work until noon. Thankfully I work for TotalFratMove, a company that not only understands that hangovers are an acceptable excuse to be late, but actually sends out emails about it.
They also provide breakfast tacos for their hungover employees. I took three and haphazardly combined them into one giant breakfast burrito/messy ball of egg, bacon, and tortilla. God bless you TotalFratMove.
Unfortunately for most people, their jobs aren’t as understanding and accepting of alcoholism as mine. I remember those times. Going into work hungover used to be the absolute worst thing in the world. Ask any postgrad you know, they’ll tell you that it’s pure torture. I mean real torture. I’d rather be waterboarded with horse semen than spend eight hours hungover in a corporate florescent box. You think your tolerance for worthless chatter with middle-aged, overweight administrative assistants is low on a normal day? Try talking about the weather when your face feels like someone spent the evening slapping it with a shovel.
As bad as you think attending that biological engineering lecture with a pounding headache and a zero tolerance for light and noise may be, remember this: you don’t technically have to be there. Even if the lecture takes attendance because the endlessly droning professor is the king of all cunts, you still don’t technically have to do anything while you’re there. Oh, and it only lasts an hour or two. But you have to show up for work, and you (sort of) have to be productive.
My worst work hangover was maybe the worst hangover I’ve ever had in my life. Before I started peddling frat smut for TFM, I worked in marketing for the largest bankruptcy law firm in St. Louis. The job sucked a thousand dicks. It paid shit and was about as interesting as watching a porno starring two virgins (terrible analogy, that would be awesome to watch). It was an awful place to be hungover. This was made doubly so by the fact that we were required to be at work at 7:00am every morning. There was literally no reason for it, we just were.
I had spent the night out with an old friend and her boyfriend. It was December 22nd and they had come in from Philadelphia for Christmas. My friend’s boyfriend, a Philly native, liked two things: Philadelphia sports (which of course is stupid) and buying booze (which of course is glorious). We started pounding Rumplemintz shots, beer, and margaritas literally the moment I got off work at 4:00pm and really never stopped. By 7:00pm we were blacked out and at a Blues game. I didn’t stop drinking until 3:00am, and I had to be up for work at 6:00am. I woke up completely shitfaced.
In one of the all time low moments of my life, right up there with watching a hobo try to hang himself in jail, I spent the first two hours of work sleeping on the floor of the private handicapped bathroom, waking only to violently vacate my bowels in the toilet. I technically wasn’t even hungover until like one o’clock. I was hammered drunk all morning. I think at one point my senses went all dull and hollow like Tom Hanks on Omaha Beach in “Saving Private Ryan.”
Since it was our last workday before Christmas, the boss man was nice enough to order a couple pizzas for the office. By a couple I mean enough for everyone to have three or four slices. Being as morning drunk as I had ever been and giving zero fucks I took an entire pizza for myself, retreated to my office, and didn’t come out until quitting time. My coworkers were probably giving me dirty looks but I didn’t really notice. I was too fucked up to work my computer, let alone interpret social cues. I spent the afternoon pounding on my keyboard like a confused chimpanzee until my browser went to Pandora and randomly pulling thirty minute George Costanzas under my desk. I was a not a good employee.
This shouldn’t stop you from drinking on weekdays after you graduate. Happy hours rule, and letting those happy hours casually segue into an all night Thursday rage fest is even better. But be forewarned, there is no hangover worse than a work hangover.
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