“I’m not even supposed to be here today…”
I had a great time at the Superbowl party. Tasty cheese dip was consumed and copious amounts of alcohol imbibed. I indiscriminately cheered for both football teams. My “zingers” outnumbered my “groaners.” Mostly.
(My favorite comment of the night, made after a beer commercial where a bird defends an attractive woman from the men hitting on her: “That’s a Cockblockatiel.”
Shut up. I thought I was funny)
After the conclusion of both the game and the special Simpson’s episode, I head home. I yell at a man begging people on the train for 20 bucks each. Seriously. What the fuck? He informs us that “If I don’t come up with 2400 bucks in the next 24 hours, they’re gonna kill me.” I respond “If I had 20 bucks, don’t you think I would have taken a cab?” “I’m just telling you, they’re gonna kill me.” “I guess you should have planned better then, huh?”
I’m a true humanitarian.
But karma’s a bitch. I stumble home, check my email and AOL IM to see if anybody cool’s online, then pass out at the stroke of midnight.
20 minutes later my phone rings.
“Booty call?” I perk up just enough to reach for the phone, don’t recognize the number, and blearily lay back to wait for the voicemail.
“Uh, Karla, this is ____ at the station. It’s 12:30 and you’re supposed to be on next…I guess I’ll just keep calling you, but um…I kinda need to take off here.”
You’ve got to be shitting me. I was apparently scheduled to work the overnight shift tonight. Not that I’d been informed of this, but I was indeed on the schedule. Christ. I contemplate ignoring the call, murdering my boss, and quitting my job.
Rent’s due this week. I pull on a pair of pants, rinse the beer film out of my mouth and grab a cab.
I’m half drunk, sleep deprived, and the hosts of the Superbowl party had a cat. I could ignore the allergic backlash if I was asleep, like I should be. As it is, I’m stuffed up and my lungs feel like they’re on fire. Positively en fuego. I still have 2 hours to go. I feel like death.
This is turning into quite the buzzkill.
Oh well, Mardi Gras on Tuesday, Chinese New Year Wednesday, and Thursday is my birthday. A full week of celebration, just for me? Hell, yes.
And if I get anymore late night calls from work…Well, damn if I didn’t just lose my cellphone. I’m ever so sorry.
Fuckers.