Upon stepping into the office this morning, I had two different people remind me what day it is. Its Friday they spouted, as if they had just unveiled some hidden truth about life
no shit its Friday, believe it or not I have a vague understanding of the passing of time, and keep myself moderately aware of what day in the week it is. But thanks anyway, lest I forgot and had the horrible misfortune of thinking it was Thursday. Could you imagine? The horror.
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So what does Friday really mean? Why do people feel the need to tell you what day it is? I dont recall many occasions where an excited employee nudged me w/ a pointy elbow to remind that it was, in fact, Tuesday. Dude, its Tuesday, sweet. Well, the reason is most of us hate our jobs, and Friday is our welcome respite from the soul shitting grind that is the working week. And what do most of us do on a Friday night? Drink. Self-medicate. Salute ourselves for another listless week by flooding our central nervous system with what is essentially poison. Before you think me some finger pointing parade rainer, please know that I love, love the poison.
So we drink, letting our horrid memories of pointless meetings, inane office banter, the sound of the printer spitting out the dead carcasses of our beloved, oxygen giving trees just so everyone in the office can read yet another idiotic memo from the CEO reminding us all of the importance of hammering the phones (this ass-clown refuses, refuses to email the memos, declaring that its much more personal when its tangible, in your hand, and youre reading it. Note to cock-smoke, no one reads them anyway, youd have a better shot at getting us to look at a feces-smeared scrap of notebook paper and sticking that on our desks, you raging, insufferable, overpaid mental midget.) By the way, why couldnt someone have told me that the phone would be such a huge part of corporate life? I dont remember hearing in college by the way, 89% of you will make a living by incessantly calling uninterested parties via the telephone and trying like holy hell to get them to purchase something you yourself dont even understand or believe in, enjoy, youre doing yeoman work! So, we drink, we drink to wash it all away, to silence the demons that fester in our skulls Monday through Friday, that feed off our collective apathy as we whither away in front of the true idiot box (the computer has officially taken over the T.V as the single most contributing factor in the decline of modern civilization, causing at the very least eye damage, and the worst, total and complete mental breakdowns. If Googles pop-up blocker didnt come around, Id be serving 25 to life right now for some sort of reprehensible crime). So we drink, we drink to forget and to forgive. To forget the past 5 days, and forgive ourselves for what were about to do in the next two. To forgive ourselves for not becoming what we always dreamed. To forgive ourselves the rampant complacency that has taken a hold of us as we watch our lives slip away, one company-wide email at a time.
So we drink. Like rabbits fuck, we drink, from close of business to close of bar, we imbibe enough alcohol in one sitting in the vein, fruitless attempt to carve out just a smidgen of fun in an this suddenly barren, bleak, pale existence we call our lives.
Okay, I think Im getting a bit too depressing. Its Friday after all, as I was just reminded by Kelly, our sales engineer, as I was typing this. Actually, I should be clearer, she said, Hey hun, T.G.I.F, right? I should have replied L.O.L Kelly, hopefully we both get a little T.L.C tonight, oh, B.T.W, fuck off.
Kellys a nice girl; I should take this out on her.
So we drink. Like Republicans lie or Democrats waiver, we drink; we drink more than Market Street smells. We drink more than the Muni line 30, 41, and 45 through Chinatown blows. We drink more than Ted Kennedys third liver could ever hope to possibly expunge. We drink because we can. We drink because we must.
Now of course, there are some of you out there who like their jobs. A few who dare use the word love. But youre not reading this, b/c youre busy doing what you enjoy, not scouring CL for something or someone to buy/sell/trade/dump/fuck/rant/rave/find/steal/lie to/lie about/and all other things Craig.
We drink because Katie, our manager, is so insecure she actually makes breathing awkward.
We drink because Bruce, the VP of being a incredible ass-face (and Biz-Dev) insists upon wearing enough cologne to the point where lighting a match anywhere near him is potentially life threatening.
We drink because Michael, the homophobic advertising guy, gets all red in the face if you call him Mike. So of course, we call him Mike often, cutting off the e at the end to emphasize the point that were really, really enjoying it.
We drink because if we have to endure one more Friday afternoon meeting, we might just projectile vomit in Kevins glandular, gnome like face. Just because you dont have a life doesnt mean the rest of us want to sit down at 4:45 on a Friday to discuss the companys direction for Q3. You see Jeffs left eye twitching? Id give this meeting another 3 minutes before he reaches across the table and pulls one of your ears off, Kev. The mans in a custody battle for his children and youre taking time away from his weekend with them because youre a selfish, horrible man. And if Kevin does blow, you can bet your ass Mitch, the North West sales manager will. I swear that guy starts off cooking some chicken by biting their fucking heads off. Do you hear his unending finger tapping on the faux-marble table? Notice how the pace quickens every few minutes? Well Kev, youve got a few more seconds of being a bullshit blowhard until Mitch pulls your heart of your fucking chest.
We drink because theres no such thing as a good week of work.
We drink because if Jessica doesnt say, this is a mission critical decision at least 4 times a week, it means she was out sick three days. Jessica, its an office supply order for Staples, how in HOLY HELL is that mission critical? Do you even know what mission critical means? Do you? Youre the office manager, not the board chairman, the phrase mission critical should never, EVER come out of your mouth. Its a stapler, not a funding request, chill the fuck out.
We drink because there is no such thing as a uni-sex bathroom. Its a girls bathroom people. You wonder why us guys leave the office at least twice to three times a day, not including lunch? Its because we have to shit, and we cant very well shit in that veritable Globe Theatre of a restroom, where every sound is amplified ten fold. The one time I just had to go (note to Jessica, now that was a mission critical decision) and simply couldnt make it to the hotel across the street (those people must have caught on that Im not staying there, considering they see me every fucking day) I took a shit in the uni-sex bathroom, and what ensued was an anal-philharmonic, led by yours truly, in which the entire office was privy to every fart, grunt, and bowel-related sound effect I had to offer. I felt like taking a bow when I got out, possibly chugging some coffee and going in for an encore. So no, its not uni-sex, its a girls room. You might as well stick a huge tampon on the door with a note reading No Y Chromosomes allowed. Oh, and Regina
I salute your utter shamelessness when it comes to shitting. Ive never, ever seen a women carry the paper under arm when she walks into the bathroom. Bra-fucking-O my girl. Truly, classic stuff.
We drink because we know Teds gay, the whole office knows Teds gay, Teds friends and family know Teds gay, and were pretty sure at this point Ted must be vaguely aware hes gay, yet he still insists upon talking about all the hot ass he tags over the weekend. Note to Ted, its not working amigo, when you can recite more show tunes than Nancy, who worked on Broadway in Manhattan for 4 years, well, its time to take the jaws of life to that closet door and step out into the world the way you were intended. Thing is Ted, everyone likes you, youre good people, and coming out wont change that, it will simply save us from the intensely awkward experience of suffering through one of your bullshit she was so hot and then we did this and that stories. How come we never see this girls Ted? How come they never call, never email, and whats that stain on your shirt? It doesnt look like mayo.
We drink because we all know that lunch and learn really means this will be the worst lunch youll have all week as were forced to share low-rent burritos at Chevys and listen to some hired-gun of a sales guy tell us all how we have to want it more than the other guy. Hey Chet, this is software sales, not rugby, now fuck off.
We drink because Amanda in finance is hot, and Tom in HR thinks hes going to bang her, and as God in heaven is my witness, if he does I will completely shut down and cry myself to sleep, because Tom in HR is quite possibly a larger d-bag than Kevin, and should he bed Amanda, well, then..nothing is right in the world. We drink because were afraid that might happen, and we drink because were too afraid to talk to Amanda, save for the pathetic warm today comment we threw at her on Tuesday. No shit its warm today, she too must come from outside like the rest of us, its not as if she wakes up, showers, than steps in her transporter and beams herself to work. She goes outside too, you fuck. And by you, I mean me.
We drink because were almost positive Brett and Stu are get stoned at lunch, and were pissed they havent invited us along yet.
We drink because the last time someone said something funny at work it was completely unintentional, and it revolved around a Freudian slip when Kev, at the end of one of his marathon Friday meetings, was trying to answer Mitchs constant interjections over our marketing budget but also trying to keep Brian quiet and ended up trying to speak to them both at the same time, calling Mitch Bitch. Hilarious. The fact that Kev survived that meeting is a testament to the fact that hes like a cockroach, and could survive anything. A nuclear holocaust ensues, were all dead
and there will be Kevin, holding court in a Friday afternoon meeting with three charred corpses and half a human head, wondering aloud where everybody is?
We drink because calling our work weekend in Reno a retreat is an oxymoron. Its not a retreat, its an assault, an assault on everything we hold dear
how DARE you ask me to give up a weekend to go to a conference w/ the whole company in Reno. Id rather eat Kevins shit. Okay, thats a little too far. Id rather throw shit at Kevin. Actually, come to think about, throwing shit at Kevin would be kinda high on my list of things to do over a weekend.
We drink because Shelly has now tried to arrange four different happy hour get togethers and the only one who shows up is Kelly and Mitch, and the only reason Mitch shows up is because hes a drunk. We drink at some other bar, out of sadness for Shelly. And Mitch.
We drink because the thought of Monday is enough to make us cry.
And finally, we drink because in the end, when its all said and done, we have much to celebrate. We are lucky enough to have the luxury of bitching about corporate jobs and cubes and the bullshit office when you consider the state of affairs for most of this planets inhabitants, every day a true struggle, food and a roof over their heads never a certainty, but rather something they strive for. We drink because in the end, were lucky, spoiled, pampered brats, we know it.
We drink because we can.
We drink because we have to.
this is in or around San Francisco