Stolen ferraris, overt racism, and a night of epic debuachery. All fueled by copius amounts of booze on the company dime.
So it was decided amongst some Shell bigwigs that the people in my department where getting sick and tired of being abused and working our asses with no praise. Sometime in the middle of the week an email trickled down the chain of command that there was to be one of those firendly social gatherings with nachos, wings, pool, and friendly conversation. Scheduled from 3:30 - 6pm on a Friday afternoon. Nothing ball busting, just a chance to blow off some steam after a long week and reap some much earned kudos.
It should be mentioned that my last shift with Shell was the next day. I had nothing to lose and only good times to exploit. I was off work at 6, but left at 5:30. I showed up to the aformentioned snacks as well as an amicable group that immediately began heaping goodbye praises upon me. I ordered two pints post haste from the bar and started getting into it. After finishng the second, I ordered a third from a waitress in our private room. When I went to pay for it, I was immediately mocked and advised that drinks were all on Shell.
This changed everything.
I had no worries of awkward office reunions or being the focus of gossip the following Monday. I was done! Whatever I did would be incredibly irrelavent the next business day. I resolved to get my money's worth and go big. This would be one for the ages. Pints of Keiths, platters of shooters, all were dispatched quickly and without a second thought. Jager, B-52s, Sour Jacks. I lost count. I felt like a kid in candy store.
By eightish I started feeling the milk was running out and decided to go home and clean up as I was due to meet up with my pals who were working late and head somewhere else. I managed to sneak some Revs in with me when I came back and we drank away the rest of their respective shifts. They also fed me the word on the street that was that the bosses had hopped bars but were still out and covering everything.
We tore over to Melrose to find quite a scene. I mean, I was drunk, but these folks were LOADED. My (female) coach was dancing with a harem of female co-workers in an area that was clearly not a dance floor. A girl who had just started earlier that week was macking on EVERYONE, including myself, my boss, and some chicks. There was breast grabbing and other assorted faux lesbianism leading to some sexual frustration on the part of male coworkers, so much so that one later got kicked out for being too friendly.
Feeling the need to catch up I was never with fewer than 3 pints, perpetually in fear that the gravy train would run out. Eventually it did, but not until the tab reached more than a grand, leaving the boss to wonder how he would explain that charge on the corporate credit card.
Six of us left for Republik, seeking new adventure, which we found, with more booze and nearly having to fight a pack of Persians for what Sonya felt was her being disrespected. Fortuntely, we left without any blood being shed.
By this time the pack had thinned to Me, Lauren, Sonya, and Steve. Planning on going back to Sonya`s so Steve could nail her, we went to a Shell station to get some snacks. We walked in and shoplifted the place BLIND. Lauren added a hot wheels ferrari to the stash of brownies, and other assorted vachon cakes in my hoodie. The clerk noticed her with some glosettes in her hand and requsted she pay for them. She dropped them and we retreated to the parking lot to determine our next move. While there, Lauren found some joy in flipping off the clerk. He came out and asked her to leave. Lauren reinterated she was from `head office` while perpetually referring to the east indian clerk as ``Harpreet`` (It should be noted that his name was not Harpreet).
Clearly offended, he went to speak to the police while I, not wanting to get arrested, hailed a cab.
We got to Sonya`s, ate our loot, then I left the kids to their own devices and got a cab home.
Needess to say I did not make it to work the next day. I was not the only one. Apparantly of the 5 people scheduled before 10, 1 showed up.
So it was decided amongst some Shell bigwigs that the people in my department where getting sick and tired of being abused and working our asses with no praise. Sometime in the middle of the week an email trickled down the chain of command that there was to be one of those firendly social gatherings with nachos, wings, pool, and friendly conversation. Scheduled from 3:30 - 6pm on a Friday afternoon. Nothing ball busting, just a chance to blow off some steam after a long week and reap some much earned kudos.
It should be mentioned that my last shift with Shell was the next day. I had nothing to lose and only good times to exploit. I was off work at 6, but left at 5:30. I showed up to the aformentioned snacks as well as an amicable group that immediately began heaping goodbye praises upon me. I ordered two pints post haste from the bar and started getting into it. After finishng the second, I ordered a third from a waitress in our private room. When I went to pay for it, I was immediately mocked and advised that drinks were all on Shell.
This changed everything.
I had no worries of awkward office reunions or being the focus of gossip the following Monday. I was done! Whatever I did would be incredibly irrelavent the next business day. I resolved to get my money's worth and go big. This would be one for the ages. Pints of Keiths, platters of shooters, all were dispatched quickly and without a second thought. Jager, B-52s, Sour Jacks. I lost count. I felt like a kid in candy store.
By eightish I started feeling the milk was running out and decided to go home and clean up as I was due to meet up with my pals who were working late and head somewhere else. I managed to sneak some Revs in with me when I came back and we drank away the rest of their respective shifts. They also fed me the word on the street that was that the bosses had hopped bars but were still out and covering everything.
We tore over to Melrose to find quite a scene. I mean, I was drunk, but these folks were LOADED. My (female) coach was dancing with a harem of female co-workers in an area that was clearly not a dance floor. A girl who had just started earlier that week was macking on EVERYONE, including myself, my boss, and some chicks. There was breast grabbing and other assorted faux lesbianism leading to some sexual frustration on the part of male coworkers, so much so that one later got kicked out for being too friendly.
Feeling the need to catch up I was never with fewer than 3 pints, perpetually in fear that the gravy train would run out. Eventually it did, but not until the tab reached more than a grand, leaving the boss to wonder how he would explain that charge on the corporate credit card.
Six of us left for Republik, seeking new adventure, which we found, with more booze and nearly having to fight a pack of Persians for what Sonya felt was her being disrespected. Fortuntely, we left without any blood being shed.
By this time the pack had thinned to Me, Lauren, Sonya, and Steve. Planning on going back to Sonya`s so Steve could nail her, we went to a Shell station to get some snacks. We walked in and shoplifted the place BLIND. Lauren added a hot wheels ferrari to the stash of brownies, and other assorted vachon cakes in my hoodie. The clerk noticed her with some glosettes in her hand and requsted she pay for them. She dropped them and we retreated to the parking lot to determine our next move. While there, Lauren found some joy in flipping off the clerk. He came out and asked her to leave. Lauren reinterated she was from `head office` while perpetually referring to the east indian clerk as ``Harpreet`` (It should be noted that his name was not Harpreet).
Clearly offended, he went to speak to the police while I, not wanting to get arrested, hailed a cab.
We got to Sonya`s, ate our loot, then I left the kids to their own devices and got a cab home.
Needess to say I did not make it to work the next day. I was not the only one. Apparantly of the 5 people scheduled before 10, 1 showed up.
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