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2 is the magic number
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post #145
bio: stu

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· Deadwood, Seasons 1 & 2

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Notes on a Pandemic
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Six Pack of Sparks, At Work
Monday, March 20, 2006
Oh shit. I'm late for work again. No matter how many times I try it, 4am on a worknight is not my friend. I shower quickly, smoke a cigarette outside the subway stop, and prepare for the day. Today, I'm going into work with a six-pack of Sparks, an energy/alcoholic drink, and will document the experience for my lovely readers. I am not an alcoholic, but for the first time ever, I will drink at work.

Hello, office! You have no idea what's to come, do you?

Tell me again why people drink this shit? This is nasty nasty stuff. I've reviewed related drinks before, and this is almost exactly the same as the dreaded Be, with less horrid malt liquor taste.

Oooh. Okay. I see where the appeal comes from. Guarana and caffeine...sugar...the's...over..whelming. Oh my god. I really should have had a bite to eat before experimenting with this shit.

Here comes number two! No, I didn't just poo on the floor. We're one third of the way through the odyssey. I am feeling a little twitchy already, and slightly woozy. I'm not sure if it's the caffeine overload, the cigarette I just had, or the alcohol starting to kick in, but I see that this might be an interesting day. On the plus side, data entry is going swimmingly.

Halfway through drink number three, and approaching halfway through the day. I'm definitely buzzed, and no one seems to notice. I'm laughing a lot more than I really should, but everyone's kinda slap-happy on a Monday morning, and my repeated statements about how I was up way too late last night seem to be mitigating any issue anyone might have with me. Also, I smoke a lot, to cover up the alcohol smell which seems to be filling up the room--but I'm probably just paranoid.

Had to run an errand with a co-worker, involving taking a series of boxes down to street level, dropping them off, and picking up more boxes. On the ride back up the elevator, we share the elevator with the head of my department, and the head of my company. We make light conversation, and at one point, the head of my department lays her hand on my shoulder, laughs, and makes a joke. Is she flirting with me??? OMG WTF LOL!!!1!1!

Well, that could be awkward. Anyway, crisis avoided. No one comments on the alcohol tang in the air.

I'm getting into a routine. I'm also four drinks in through the day. I'm on pace to get through this without a problem. Which is kind of a shame for you, dear reader, but I don't really entirely want to lose my job. So I guess I can live with that.

The head of my department--the one who may or may not have been flirting with me--calls me. She's never called me before. Can I come down to her office? By now I am twitching with caffeine overdose. I had a girlfriend in college who overdosed on caffeine during Finals week--spent two days in the hospital because she was dropping No-Doze with coffee made from caffeinated water (which, sadly, was my idea) along with ramen, once again made with caffeinated water. Ahhh, Water Joe. How you got me through college. Anyway, caffeine overdose is bad, and my right leg just won't stop twitching. Plus, the head of my department just called me down there. That's weird, right? What to do, what to do?

Oh well. Might as well finish off round five. If it doesn't work out, I might not be allowed back to my desk to finish what's left.

I sit down across the table from her, attempting to focus, and try to avoid the fact that, by this point, I literally have alcohol coming out of my pores.
"Well, Stu, we are eliminating your position..." I blackout for a moment. What the fuck? "...and creating a new position. It's a bit of a title bump, and there will be an attendant salary increase, but we think you're doing great work here, and we'd like you to continue with us in this new capacity."

I manage not to say the first thought that crosses my mind, which is "Holy fucking shit, that's fucking incredible! That's the best goddamn news I've received all fucking day!" And instead say, "Well, that's great, and I'm very much intrigued. Can I have a little bit of time to think about it? That sounds like a lot of responsibility, and I need to think about whether this is the right direction for me, personally, as well as professionally."

I surreptitiously wipe the drool from my mouth with the professional gesture of seriousness, which is clasped hands and a quiet nod.

Holy shit! How the hell did this happen? How did they not pick up on my on-going burnout??? I should drink at work more often.

It's time for drink number six! How can I stop my leg from jittering?!?

People go out of their way not to notice whether you're drunk or not. They are totally willing to interpret obvious things in a non-obvious way. I should do this more often. But it's quitting time. And Miller Time. Or, in my case, bourbon time. There is not a section of my life that's not stressful right now, but I can deal. I really can.

Okay. Time to post this fucker.

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