“Man, I wish it was Friday,” the sad lady next to me in the elevator sighed.
When you’re the last Metroblogger to leave the party (besides DJ lil’e!), it should clue you in to the fact that you will be hurting the next day…
This morning I officially dub myself a lightweight. As in drinker. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out on a “school night,” and last night’s chill soiree at Felix really shouldn’t be responsible for the hangover I’m experiencing now, rocking slowly back and forth in my cubicle, trying to block out the incessant high-pitched whining in my head. After all, a few cocktails used to be, oh, appetizers on the multi-course dinner of alcoholic delights.
So in order to convince myself that it isn’t so bad, and that it used to be much worse, I thought I’d share my favorite DC Hangover story…
I was temping in the hallowed halls of a Classic Washington Think-Tank, where even the lowliest researcher sports at least two higher degrees. There I was, in the prime of my drinking-for-sport days, coming in completely and utterly smashed still from the previous night’s antics.
A clueless co-worker asks me to sit in on a meeting, and I think “sure, I’m cool. no problem. I can fake this.”
Ten minutes into the meeting it begins. Head spinning, stomach heaving, that horrible feeling of doom as the throat constricts and the saliva starts in.
I excuse myself and race to the restroom, making it just in time to vomit all over the lovely marble.
“Ah, much better,” I think with the smugness of youth, and head back into the meeting. Five minutes later, my face slowly turns pale green, and it all begins again…
All in all I had to leave the meeting a total of three times.
Needless to say, I did not end up working for them.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs