December 12th, 2003


Mixing Alcohol With Work.

I never thought I'd ever be at a place where there was an open bar and not have a good time. Even prison would be a decent time if it had an open bar. And by that I mean the happy, anal rape-free prison you'd see in an Elvis movie, unless Elvis slipped a Roofie into my drink and raped me anyway.

But lo and behold there was open bar at our office holiday party tonight, and I had only a decent time.

Of course it didn't help that I hardly drank. I just don't like getting trashed off my ass around coworkers or clients. But this doesn't seem to deter other people from getting plowed at work functions.

Last week, for instance, a senior-level guy got MC Hammered while drinking with clients. After noticing his slurred speech, one of the clients then took away his car keys and made one of her underlings drop his faded ass off at our office.

That's where it really hit him.

At 3pm, our department was quiet enough that you could hear him yelling from the elevators. Then he burst through the lobby doors with a primal shriek that only prehistoric flying reptiles could understand. Next, the drunk bastard ran and slid across the floor as if he was trying to steal second base, which would've made sense if he weren't Australian, who only play the homosexual version of baseball - cricket.

Of course the carpet tore the entire skin off the palm of his left hand, and it just hung there like a flesh toupee. He didn't notice this, because he was too busy lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around an assistant's ankles, professing his love for her.

He usually gets pretty insane at most parties, but I'd never seen him like this - and I've partied with him for a week in Vegas. Crackheads don't get that crazy. Why he picked the middle of a workday to reach the Mount Everest of intoxication levels is beyond me. I was disappointed with him; and most of all, I was disappointed with the Commonwealth of Australia. Those supposedly hard-drinking fuckers have the reputation of being able to handle their liquor.

As he tried to prod another female employee into suing him, I looked around for a blunt object to hit him over the head with and drag his stupid self out of trouble. I like the guy and didn't want him to get fired.

But he jumped up and staggered through the rest of the department, careening off walls and cubicles like a red, sweaty pinball. And he kept making that shrill pterodactyl sound, before falling to the ground again. He rolled around, belting out Simpsons quotes and curse words, while trying to make a snow angel, except there was no snow - only a small crowd of nervously giggling employees.

Finally after 15 minutes of that, a 6'4" 220-pound account guy picked him up, but only after having to immobilize the flailing lush with a wrestling grip. As he screamed bloody murder, they threw him into the backseat of a car and drove him home.


And that's not even the worst drinking incident at work I've ever come across.

It occurred at another agency when one of the female partners got thoroughly soused and passed out in our lobby. Somehow she ended up completely naked from the waist down.

Advertising people should just play it safe and stick to a more dignified substance like PCP.


The Australian guy never did show up to our holiday party tonight.

Site Meter