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Chapter 22: Just Get Me Home

Dear Journal

As the hung-over castaways all lurched through the office towards the parking lot and their respective cars, I couldn’t help but notice how similar this state of “hangover-edness” was to most days at the office. The nausea, the headaches, the painful expression of regret in everyone’s faces; the only real difference was that it was a Saturday morning. I thought I had managed to escape the worst of my hangover, but I was as wrong as the little dresses that Doris makes her cats wear.

As I got to my noble chariot – 1995 Toyota Tazz, I was greeted by several spritely joggers who on any other day would have received a hearty if not completely faked reply, but today all that was forthcoming was a grunt. As I opened the car door I was struck by a tidal wave of heat which of course did wonders for my nausea. Naturally this would also be the day that the air-conditioning in the car decides to cease; surely it has been cursed by the evil air duct wizard in my cubicle. Man, I hate that guy (even though I’ve never met him) I needed to find a cure to this hangover and fast.

I tried my best to concentrate on my driving and not the vomiting butterflies in my stomach and managed fairly well I thought considering the steering well felt as if it were made of molten lava. I must have been quite the sight to behold; driving squint eyed; sweating from the lack of air conditioning and swerving left and right due to tapping the steering wheel in order to drive or risk burning off the skin on my hands.

Those who claim miracles don’t happen would be astounded to know that I made it the local merchant with not so much as a dent, although the same cannot be said for the nerves of some of the other motorists and pedestrians who were on the road nearby.

I stumbled into the shop like a cripple with a crutch made of jelly. Strangely enough I was incredible hungry, but even the thought of the jelly crutches from the previous simile made me want to vomit. Everyone in the store was staring, babies were crying and parents were dropping bags of groceries to cover their children’s eyes and ears.

I wondered why the big deal. Sure, I was a little hungover and probably smelled a bit past my expiration date, but there was no need for this. It was only as I stumbled past the frozen foods section that I caught my reflection in the upright fridges and remembered that I was still dressed as a special-Ed pirate. A water wing wearing, life-jacket adorned pirate…with nothing else on.

I wasn’t sure if it was this realisation or the fact that I was near the fridges, but I suddenly felt very cold and as I looked for my pirate flag skirt I had been wearing I noticed a very similar one waving outside, caught in my front door. The Skull and Crossbones seemed to laugh as it waved in the wind outside.

I swallowed my pride, which was pretty much all I could keep down at the time and walked out the shop. No one seemed to mind that I didn’t pay for the bags on frozen peas that I was using to hide my nether regions.

I drove home faster than I think is humanly possible, at the speed of pure embarrassment.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, eating handfuls of frozen peas on the way. I opened the door and collapsed in my bed.

I felt like I was in hell. I was sweating, yet cold; I was hungry; yet nauseous; I was shaking and it terrible endless pain, but despite all this I could only hold on to one single thought… this is better than work.

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Posted by on July 22, 2011 in journal

 

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Chapter 20: The Hangover

Dear Journal

I need to um… can’t think straight. I can’t seem to open my eyes more than just a slit.
I need to figure out where the hell I am. I appear to be in some sort of room. Lets see… four walls; ceiling; door; yes, definitely a room of some kind.

I manage to sit up ever so slowly there are bodies everywhere dressed in Pirates outfits, bikinis and sailor uniforms. What the hell happened? I seem to have water wings on, a lifejacket and I’m wearing a pirate flag as a skirt other than that I am completely naked.

I try to move but some blonde woman dressed in a sailor’s costume is lying on my arm which has gone completely numb from loss of blood. My ears are ringing, my head is pounding and yet I seem to have the song “Girls just wanna have fun stuck in my head”. It really is a catchy song. I try hum the tune but realise that my throat is as arid and devoid of water as the plastic plants in the Customer Service Department and someone seems to have lined the roof of my mouth with cotton.

What the hell happened last night?

I look around the room to see if I can get any sort of clue as to how I managed to get into this room dressed like a Special-Ed Pirate, surrounded by all these other shipwrecked outcasts and passed out next to some woman who may or may not be part leech, as she seems to not only have removed all blood flow in my arm, but I am unable to get her to let go.

I hope she isn’t dead and this is some sort of rigor mortis-like grip that she has on my arm and forever I will have to drag her corpse to and from work… ugh I can’t be thinking of things like that now. To be honest I can’t really be thinking of anything right now as ever thought seems too painful. Merely existing seems to hurt. Right now I will concentrate on breathing and not throwing up.

I don’t feel so good.

Ok , I feel a bit better and only need to concentrate on breathing now. Luckily there was an empty bowl of dip nearby and to be quite honest the vomit kind of looks like the dip used to. Thankfully too, in my rush to find some sort of vessel to regurgitate in I managed to free myself from my prison of passed out blonde girl.

However in jerking myself free I may have woken her. Well, it was either that or when she rolled off the table and slammed her head into the floor. Either way, she’s awake.

In what must be considered the cliché of the day she asked where she was and what had happened. She asked for something to eat, but I thought that a bowl of fresh dip wasn’t what she wanted to see right now.

Slowly more and more bodies regained movement throughout the room, which was now becoming more and more recognisable as the Centrifico Technologies Boardroom. (Not that I had ever been before, I just recognised it from the orientation DVD we watched on my first day here).

Everyone seemed just as confused as the next and yet completely calm, that was until someone said “I think the doors locked”

 
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Posted by on July 15, 2011 in journal

 

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