Dear Red Beard,
Won’t it be nice once I’m under your watchful eye and I won’t get rip-roaring drunk and call you at midnight on a school night? I’m looking forward to that myself.

Last night I had plans to have “a” drink with a couple of people from work. We left here about 5, drove up the road to the bar, and I figured I’d be heading back into the city by 6 or 7. Rrrriiiiiiight.

I had a few appetizers and was pacing myself well, and then - who the hell knows what happened. I noticed that as the place got more and more crowded with my work crew, more and more people decided it would be a good idea to buy me going away drinks. I know we’ve had this discussion, but it’s extraordinarily difficult to turn down free drinks.

Then the karaoke started, which I am proud to say, I only observed from afar. Of course my coworkers dedicated every song to me and serenaded me, so that was only partially humiliating.

The really humiliating part was my memory of speaking to a friend of PowerPoint Boy’s, and being honest with my feelings on the political hiring policies of the company that screwed me out of a promotion that went to PowerPoint Boy a few months ago. PowerPoint Boy’s friend then invited me to drink for free on his tab all night. That still doesn’t make sense to me.

At about 10:30, following a shaky rendition of “Killing Me Softly,” the wheels fell off the bus and everyone was totally incoherent, mumbling, drooling, eyes at half mast - you get the idea.

I decided that it was time for the drunks to break it up, so I wandered out into the parking lot and got into the backseat of the vehicle that had deposited me in this now unholy wasteland of drunks. The driver of the car got into the backseat next to me, which I found hilariously confusing, because, hey, your arms can’t reach the steering wheel from the backseat.

Then the driver tried to make out with me so I punched him in the sternum. Surprisingly (or perhaps not) he actually leaned in and tried to kiss me a second time. This time I wasn’t as kind. I slapped his hands down as I said to him, “Are you f***ing kidding me??”

I don’t remember what happened after that, but I’m assuming that I jumped out of the car because my next memory is riding in the backseat of a black car service with two other people who needed to get back to the city. I didn’t call you then, because I didn’t want to say anything about “the incident” in front of those other people, so I called you (sorry sorry!) after they got out of the car, which was around midnight.

Christ. I am really glad it’s my last day.
Love you, and I can’t wait to see you to get the cooties off me. The dude is married with kids. That just depresses the hell out of me.
LOVE,
Roxy

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