Booze Hounds

The Friday Fire

It was just another tedious day at the cubicle, doing what I do best; getting aggressively shouted at by discontented clients. That is the hell that comes with working in customer service each and every day. Each night before I take my siesta, my mind becomes bull-rushed with the mere thought of all these enraged voicemails waiting anxiously for me at sunrise. A colossal cloud of anxiety overtakes me followed by an acute case of panic attacks. This is a nightly occurrence for me. If you work in Customer Service, you know the drill. Anyways, the constant ass pounding I have been receiving the past few months began to take a toll on me. I started to plunder in weight, stopped shaving, grew my mane out, didn’t tuck my shirt in; solely because my pants became too tight. Overall, just became a well rounded piece of shit with a lack luster work ethic. Like a colonoscopy, my boss had been up my ass these past two weeks. Good news, at least it’s Friday. I can dive into a weekend of debauchery while my weekend stays unhampered by my job.

 It’s about 3:40, my boss is nowhere to be seen. Martha, my arch rival, had to go to a doctor’s appointment for what I can only hope is a case of severe shingles. The inner booze hound in me begins to hostilely howl as I begin to pack up my cubicle. I’m getting out of here bitches! As I tiptoe, sidestep and essentially go seal team six on the rest of my co-workers in attempts to escape the Alcatraz that is my office, a chill wind goes up my spine. I didn’t even have to turn around; I could feel him there. I cowardly peaked from behind and there he stood, arms crossed. “Going somewhere?” Like any attempeted escape from the penitentiary, justice would be swift. My boss demanded we needed to  converse in his office.

 The 50 foot walk from my cubicle to his office felt like forever. Palms were sweaty, knees week, my arms were heavy and there was vomit on my tie, Martha’s left over spaghetti. As my co-workers watched me perform the walk of shame, I thought “Fuck, I might actually get fired.” My boss instructs me to come in and take a seat. “Wait, no close the door first.”

Oh shit, I really am getting fired. With a stern gaze that could pierce the soul of a small fishing village, he sternly asked “Where do you see yourself with this company in 5 years?” Where do I see myself!? Where the hell l do I see myself? I just bought new sheets for my bed because I peed myself last night and you’re asking where I see myself!? I don’t know where I see myself in 5 hours. Probobly face down in a ditch.

Anyways, I must have been able to muster up some coherent thoughts in hope to salvage my job as the next words out of his mouth were unforeseeable. “We’re promoting you.” I had never been more befuddled in my life. Here, I’m thinking I’m walking the plank of unemployment and this son of a bitch promotes me. As I sat there, shirt untucked, stomach extruding out of my shirt with my hair looking like Kid Rock; All I could think was, Martha is going to be so damn pissed. A fire in my belly arose. I had a new goal within this company. RUIN MARTHA’S LIFE! I solely accepted this new position and responcibility with the mere intentions  to enrage my cubicle mate and sworn enemy, Martha. See you Monday morning you wretched witch. Here’s to the weekend Office Jockeys!

Categories: Booze Hounds

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