1 Happy St

Yesterday was my brother-in-law Tom's 21st birthday. I always find our obsession with getting drunk on our 21st birthday's kind of funny since the people who make a big deal out of it have probably been drinking heavily since they were 16. I'm sure Tom fits nicely into this description, but Jill and I wanted to show him a good time anyway. And we did. I think. I'm sure he's still sleeping it off right now as I type this.

My main problem with showing this particular 21-year-old a good time on his 21st birthday though is that he had the foresight to take off of work today while I did not. I am so wicked dragging right now. Going to bed at 2am after a handful of Jagerbombs and a half-dozen Jack Daniels/Coke concoctions would normally keep me out of commission for a day or so. So when my alarm started sounding only 4 hours after I set it, I think I started cursing at it. I'm not even sure how I made it into work because I have no recollection of the drive. I remember it being 6am. Then I remember it being almost 8 and I was at work. What the frig happened to those 2 hours? I have no idea. I do know that Jagerbombs are probably no longer on my list of things I can drink though. I'm 29, I rarely [if ever] use any kind of haircare products, I don't pick fights with strangers, and I don't show off my pectoral muscles [although this has nothing to do with not wanting to], so I think it's time to hang up my Jager usage. It's a silly drink for silly individuals, and I think I've reached a point in my life where I'm no longer silly. If you know what I mean. So goodbye Jager. It was a fun ride.

So this morning I was standing at one of the urinals in the men's bathroom, trying to rid my body of that liquid headache. I overheard a co-worker whom we'll call Sampson (for no reason) start to open the bathroom door, but he was still mid-conversation with another co-worker of mine whom we'll call Outside-The-Bathroom Guy (because I couldn't tell who he was based on his voice and he was standing outside the bathroom), so Sampson didn't enter the bathroom right away. He kind of just stood there in the doorway while he talked with OTBG. I knew it was Sampson without even turning around because Sampson has a very distinguishable voice. I mean you can't mistake Sampson. You just can't. He's Sampson. So anyway, his conversation went on with OTBG for a good 30 seconds, but I could tell that he was anxious. He had to attend to something. So he cut off OTBG mid-sentence, then took a brisk walk to the last stall. Why am I telling you this? I have no idea. Why am I asking myself questions and then answering them myself? Because it's annoying and I'm in that kind of mood. But let's move on because this story may have a point.

So Sampson reached the last stall and began dropping bombs like nobody's business (except mine....and well yours now). Little kids were ducking for cover. Well I was, since it was only Sampson and me in there. But then the bombs stopped. All of a sudden like that. It was a quick 5-second burst and then nothing. I then heard a quick spin of the TP, then he was standing and flushing. He was at the sink within like 25 seconds from the time he started. And I was still at the urinal! Who can do all that in 25 seconds? Sampson may need a new nickname. Like Batman or something. Or Quicksilver. Yeah, Quicksilver sounds good.

Sweet. Sampson has a new nickname. I knew this story had a point.