Despite your head feeling as if you were in several car accidents last night, you manage to lift it and stagger into the bathroom. No question, work is going to be awful today. It’s Monday and you know it’s about to be just an absolute bureaucratic holocaust of useless meeting and pointless paperwork for your hungover self to have to tolerate. You stumble into the shower and, for a second, you feel refreshed. But, sadly, the revitalization quickly subsides when your stomach rumbles and you fribble up some dark brown barf that drips off your chin and onto your stomach. Tragedy, pain, suffering — today’s had it all and you’ve only been awake for five minutes.
Fortunately the cops patrolling at eight in the morning aren’t looking for drunk drivers, because right now your driving ability is about on par with Princess Diana’s chauffeur. With the aid of chain-smoking seven cigarettes, you’re able to successfully swerve into the office parking lot without making yourself puke again or running any street children over.
Using other cubicles for support, you totter to your desk with the grace of a very intoxicated baby deer learning to walk. You sit for five minutes and your tummy lets out a growl, like a bear who’s frustrated that he has to pay cover for the gay bar where he’s a regular. You recognize you’ve got nearly eight hours of work to go. You begin to grasp your impending reality. Vomiting at work today is like another reboot of the Spiderman movie franchise — it’s not a matter of if, but rather a matter of when.
If only employers were accommodating to us less-than-functional alcoholics. In a perfect world, we could just hang a “Gone Barfin’ ” sign on our cubicle and our supervisors would know we’re on the couch at home, periodically vomiting while perhaps enjoying a bombshell-heavy episode of Maury. Sadly, with most workplaces not implementing such a progressive approach, we’re forced to lie. You just need to be quick on your feet. If your boss wants to know why you keep stumbling, say you have an inner-ear infection. Should your boss ask why you smell like David Hasselhoff’s toilet, just say you spilled mouthwash on yourself and then tripped in a trash pile while taking the garbage out. Just lie, and if you’re questioned about those lies remember you can always keep lying.
Any politician knows a good lie can take you pretty far, but sometimes that’s not enough. When you know you’re going to be in for five or six rounds of chunky post-consumer-content booze erupting out of your hot mouth you’re going to need to utilize misdirection. It can be as simple as stealing one of the janitor’s “Bathroom Closed for Cleaning” signs. It can be as daring as setting off the emergency sprinkler system. Or, it can be as conniving as spreading a viciously stink-tastic rumor about a certain corporate buttmunch named James from Payroll who never shuts up about his wife and kids. Once the office hears about the inhumanly disgusting doody blast that you walked in on James setting off this morning they’ll be sure to take their dirty business to the other restrooms for the day.
Sometimes you can’t help getting caught. Maybe your boss notices you moaning, face-deep in a trashcan or maybe you just throw up all over his shoes in the break room. Regardless, at this point it’s high time to man up, stand up straight, look your boss right in the eye, and then try to shift the blame entirely. It’s not your fault you drank; it’s peer pressure’s, or your family’s history, or Columbus Day’s fault for being so much fun to drink during. When the chips are down and the chunks are up shifting the blame’s not a bad last-ditch move.
Justin Gawel is an adult baby from Michigan whose articles appear on BroBible most Thursdays and some Tuesdays usually. Look for more of his writing, his BroBible.com archive, and his updates at www.justingawel.com or follow him @justingawel on Twitter.
[Vomiting image via ShutterStock]