Hangover Hell

Wine Bottle - Marcelo Gerpe

The problem with going out and having a good time is that sometimes you have too good a time. And the only thing worse than going to work is going to work hung-over.

Happy hour isn’t quite so happy the next day in the morgue - a.k.a. office. In fact, I am usually quite unhappy. The unrelenting questions just don’t stop, everyone wants a piece of me, and I end up popping paracetamol faster than is legal in most countries. Is this worse than being hungover at home with a screaming baby? I can’t answer that, but it doesn’t take long to realise this is an incident not to be repeated.

I can feel my worthiness of an employee being questioned not by him - the Boss Man - but by her across the desk, as I become subject to a Pocket Rocket interrogation. I find it hard to imagine that she has ever been hungover at work, or actually ever, now that I think about it. This girl is wasted as an accountant. She should be in the Met. How many drinks did I have? She is like the alcohol police. What time did I get home? And the sleep police. What am I wearing? Crikey, the fashion police too.

The Pocket Rocket isn’t trying to enquire as to whether I had a good evening or not, but firstly to evaluate how drunk I was, and subsequent to that, how hungover I am, and secondly, how tired I am so that she can ascertain how much my work performance will be affected by my lack of sleep. I wouldn’t actually be surprised if she pulled a breathalyser on me and command me to “blow”. It’s got to the point that if she doesn’t walk away soon I will forced to confess that I don’t know how many glasses of wine I drank (too many), what time I got home (can’t remember), how many hours of sleep I had (not enough), and that I woke up on the bed fully clothed with the lights still on. Not a good look.

So I have decided that to avoid such water guzzling incidents from happening again, I will implement a two-drink rule. Only during the week (obviously), except birthdays, of course, and Christmas, and well any special occasion really...

There’s a rule in here somewhere but after that barrage of questions I think I need another drink. Pass me the wine.

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