The Work Party
For the entirety of my Cegep years, I worked at a pharmacy stocking shelves and fucking around. I had got BrownTown a job there so we had a pretty good time whenever we worked with each other. Sometimes we took our breaks at the same time and hit the restaurant next door to rip some pitchers in half an hour then go back to work. They were good times, nothing serious, just a fuckaround job to pay for my weekend extravaganzas. The one thing about this pharmacy that was incredibly badass were the Christmas parties. A shit-show would be a candy coated way of putting what this scene was like.
The pre-party was inside the pharmacy. It involved me, BrownTown and a few other co-workers along with a bunch of beers. We hammered what we could in the break room and bathroom before getting into the school bus that would take us all the way to the East end of Montreal, where the dinner hall was. The bus ride was dedicated to hard liquor and we'd pound as much of it as possible before pulling up to the hall. So, just to set the mood of the evening, everyone stepping off that bus was completely mangled.
Our coat check was comped which really didn't make a difference to me. Smoking bans were still unheard of at this point, so everyone was puffing away in the hall. BrownTown and I immediately went to the bar and ordered some shots and a few beers. There were bottles of wine on every table during the dinner and there's always the losers who say they don't drink alcohol then give you a disapproving look (if you're one of these people, get the hell off my site). Whatever, more for me, see you at work on Monday...you fucking squares So, the bottles that weren't being drunk found their way into our possession, somehow. Naturally we kept hammering the free wine, red and white, until the waiters' refused to give us anymore. One of the uglier older waitresses was giving me smiles here and there so I hit her up for a bottle. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said if only I was older then we'd be made for each other. She must've known I was full of shit but she gave me the bottle anyway.
After the dinner service, the real fun began. The owner of my pharmacy usually gives his credit card to the cashier/manager with the biggest tits (there were some smoking hot ones) and she goes off to the bar and buys a fuck-ton of booze for the store. I'm talking trays of shots, mixed drinks and beers all over the place. Imagine a swarm of piranhas attacking fresh meat. That was me and BrownTown. We were like Vikings pillaging a village, swilling down whatever we could. Believe me when I say we were fucking shit-blasted after this final intake of alcohol. We would soon hit our party peak. BrownTown's a terrific dancer so he was ripping the dance floor apart. When I dance I look like I'm having a seizure or like a lizard’s running loose in my pants. I don't dance, that's all there is to it. Instead, I mingle and make friends when I get gunned like this.
First I approached the owner of the store and thanked him for the drinks by grabbing his head and kissing him on the cheeks. I was in a phase back then where everyone got kisses for any reason at all. I even kissed that cosmetician whore that snapped her fingers at me and whistled like a retard from across the pharmacy to get my attention. Even after all these years I still hate that woman (she got a kiss too, bitch). At some point during the night, I walked into a wedding with this girl I worked with and congratulated the bride and groom while doing some recon to locate an open bar. No luck! It was Dry County. Then everything went black. My mother woke me up the next morning. I was sleeping on the ground in our upstairs bathroom.
After placing a few calls and having a sit down with my mother, the rest of the night was cleared up for me. I actually didn't make an ass out of myself at the party, apart from kissing the people who could fire me just for farting in their general direction. I did however make a spectacle of myself at home. My mother came home early that morning to find me passed out on the stairs leading up to my room with a bag of Doritos in one hand and a spilled glass of water in the other. I was in a "crawling position" as she put it. She woke me up and put me to bed, so she thought. A few minutes later, she said I went to the bathroom and fell to the ground. Apparently lying from the ground, I called the house phone from my cell phone to say everything was fine. A few minutes later, I fell again and again I called her to say everything was just fine. I never got up. I slept on the tile floor of my bathroom, curled up with a pink pillow that said "Princess" on it. I thought that was pretty funny...she was less than thrilled with her baby boy.