It'll be a long time

Friday night: Drinking festivities.

Notable appearances: the stupid kid, not so pretty girl, lurch, the kid that I hate
Notable non-appearances: hypermanager, pony boy, cancerface, johnny bombay, adina, crazy blog stalker people.

We got there at about seven. The Red Sox were on. I remember very little past the fourth inning (and I'm told the game went to thirteen innings).

Stupid kid said not one word to me. Showed up, ate some buffalo wings, and left. Not a "hello" not a "goodbye." Nothing. I was surprised, but really, I don't care.

I do know that I had at least one shot (some very good kind of tequila), that I turned down at least one shot, and that there was no point in the evening I did not have a glass of Guiness in (at least one of) my hand(s).

----we interrupt this hazy recollection (if you can call it that) of a drunken night at a pub to bring you late breaking details----

Upon further reflection I have realized that the shot I turned down was bought by the kid that I hate.

This is bad for a number of reasons. First: I hate him. This is the kid I saw walking around the office my very first day and thought "I hate him." The kid who was later transferred into my group, at which point I thought "I'll give him another chance," and did, and turns out, yes, I was right. I hate him.

Second: The kid that I hate always buys shots. He spends at least half his monthly earnings getting wasted at bars on weekday nights. He buys shots. It's all he does. No, that's wrong. He buys shots, takes them, and then gets wildly inappropriate, beligerant, and obnoxious.

Third: I mentioned I was at no point without a Guiness, right? Because that's important.

The kid I hate bought shots of something stupid. Possibly (probably) something with Jagermeister. He insisted everyone do a shot. I refused.

I said "No. I don't want it." I said "No. I have a beer." I said "No."

You remember those Nancy Reagan commercials from the eighties that ran in between episodes of Gem and the Gummi Bears? You remember.

Dear Nancy Reagan, I have a message for you:

"Just Say No." DOESNT WORK.

The kid that I hate did not take "no" for an answer. He kept handing me the shot, I kept sliding it down the table away from me. He would pick it up and give it back to me. This happened (not kidding) twelve times.

I'm just sitting there, right? Enjoying my last beer with a coworker (who I DON'T hate), and trying (hazily) to enjoy the Red Sox game. Stop handing me that shot. Stop talking to me. While you're at it, why not just go home so I never have to see you again?

Did the kid I hate leave me alone? No.

I thought I had won. I slid that shot away from me the last time and I honestly thought he would take no for an answer. He picked it up, and turned away from me, toward the bar, then turned back and...


DUMPED THE SHOT INTO MY BEER


WTF?!

Do NOT pour shots into my beer! Do NOT mess with my Guiness! YOU JUST RUINED A DRINK I HAD BEEN ENJOYING YOU ASSHOLE.

Can you believe it? I absolutely hate that kid. Punch-him-in-the-face-if-I-hadn't-been-that-drunk hate. Kick-his-ass-on-the-spot-if-I-weren't-so-disoriented hate. I couldn't believe it.

Um, but, well. Just to illustrate how drunk I was... I, finished the beer.

What is wrong with me?

Was it the two other people at the table who looked at me, shrugged as if to say "Yes, he ruined your beer, but you're here to get wasted, aren't you? We're here to get wasted, and at the very least hoped to see you get tanked too, otherwise why are you sucking down the free Guinesses we keep spotting you?" and actually said "You do have to finish it." As if their opinion somehow mad the beer less-ruined.

Was it that I was already so drunk that I forgot that three seconds ago someone had poured a shot of who-knows-what into my drink?

Did I just not care?

(It was option B. I'd forgotten what had happened three seconds prior after being distracted by the Sox game, or someone tapping me on the shoulder, or blinking.)

So, when I say I turned down at least one shot, that's true. But I still ended up drinking it.

Gross.

Most of the night is a blur. I'm sure I called some people on the phone, I am not sure that I spoke to anyone, or that I spoke coherently. I think I left right after the game, without saying goodbye to anyone. I slept until one the next day.

I came into work Monday and not so pretty girl asked if I had a good time. I said "I honestly can't remember anything after the fourth inning."

She said, "You had a good time."

-t