Last night I worked until 9 PM. Not bad, considering there is plenty of food, caffeine, gum, and hairspray stocked at our office. See, the entire business runs like a gigantic lock-in, sans the bowling alley or human flypaper game. I, however, am not accustomed to the long hours. I can handle them, but only if I do absolutely nothing else. For example, last night I drove home grooving to "White Lines" (think "Shaun of the Dead"), gave the cats fresh water, and settled down to watch "Law & Order," my usual weeknight routine. However, about ten minutes into the episode, I was passed out drooling on the couch. By the time the Designated Driver rolled in at 10:30, I was barely prepared for my usual farce of pretending to be awake when I was actually drooling onto the couch pillow that Max humps on a thrice-weekly basis (when Peter's heart condition renders him unable to perform his usual molestation). I've never understood my propensity to feign alertness when I am so clearly not. The Designated Driver pretends not to notice, but here is the conversation I recall from last night:
Designated Driver: (re: "Law & Order) Oooh, so what's happened in this one?
Me: (slurred) Uh, Sam Waterston's really pissed about global warming, or abortion, or midget facial paralysis--
Designated Driver: (skeptical) Uh-huh.
Me: And Mariska Hargitay and Vincent D'Onofrio just did it in the bullpen while S. Epatha Merkerson videotaped--
Designated Driver: --Uh, they're on three different spinoffs.
Me: Yeah, I'm not awake.
Designated Driver: I figured.
H-Berts, however, has read my mind regarding the work exhaustion factor. He called me into his office this morning with the following words of wisdom:
H-Berts: Either you order us an espresso machine, or we're all starting a mandatory cocaine habit.
Me: I'll call Williams Sonoma.
H-Berts: They have cocaine?
Me: Gourmet. And it comes with free pumpkin muffins.
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