Those Thursday Hangovers
Saturday, January 6, 2007 at 02:58AM Thursday hangovers are the rarest and nastiest of the species. For evidence of this, see book one, chapter one of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series.
Of course, these rare Thursday hangovers are necessarily preceded by equally-rare Wednesday night benders. The one follows from the other. Why the universe chose to work itself out in such a cruel manner is anyone's guess. It makes us think twice about Benjamin Franklin's observation that "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." He might have added, "except on Wednesdays".
But I digress.
Several Wednesdays ago found me elbows-to-glasses with some workmates down at Mars. It's an easy-going sort of bar just down the street from the office. Usually you can find at least a few groups of software engineers slouching around the outdoor patio there, swapping dot-com boom stories or comparing scars or whatever it is that they do.
I was there with about a dozen others celebrating a product release. Now, long after I'm dead historians will no doubt point out and make a big fuss over the fact that I did not actually work on the product whose release we were celebrating. My post humous retort: shove it, ninnies. So what. The important thing was that I was privy to the open tab. And open it was.
I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that this was the last drink I ordered before attempting to serve someone a drink from behind the bar, getting yelled at, and having my drink taken away:
"Gimme a margarita with your most expensive tequila."
That's what you get when you combine ordering on the company's tab with a total lack of inhibition.
Anywho, not a short time after this I ended up, to my astonishment, at the Makeout Room over on 22nd. This was astonishing because it was unclear to me how exactly I got there. It was probably some variety of cab ride, but I couldn't be positive--I was clearly in a state of too-much. Another hint that I was in a state of too-much, besides being astonished at how I was at places, was that I kept falling asleep at awkward times. For instance, mid-sentence while ordering something at the bar.
At around the time the bartender started giving me waters and showing genuine concern, I decided to hoof it back to my apartment. Which leads, in a circular nature, back to the starting point: the Thursday hangover.
By the way, I think my life might be pointless.