Naturally, Drinkie Friday at work resulted in humiliation. You probably predicted this. Hey, don't ever accuse me of learning from my mistakes!
The office bathrooms are located in the stairwell and you need to swipe your ID to get back in to the main floor. Drinkie Friday lasts into the night, and I learn the hard way that my temporary ID card hasn't been enabled with 24-hour access. After unsuccessfully swiping my ID about 20 times, I accept that I am trapped in the stairwell. For some unknown reason, I decide to walk from the 12th floor up to the 13th floor. Can't get in there either. Then I walk down to the 11th floor because that is usually open to the public, but it is also locked after 5pm. I go back up to the 12th floor. The Kiwi women are downing the wine like water, and I figure one of them will come to the bathroom soon enough and I'll sneak back in. So I wait... and wait... and wait. Finally, I bang on the door until someone comes to my rescue. When I return to the party, everyone says they assumed I went home without saying goodbye. Americans are so rude!
For my next trip to the bathroom (the wine was flowing freely on Drinkie Friday), I borrow someone else's ID so I can get back in. I do this on the sly so as not to call attention to myself. Then my boss sees me heading down the hallway and yells, "No Maureen! Wait! Remember you'll get locked out!" Yes, thank you for reminding everyone.
I've had enough embarrassment for one night. In a rare display of good judgement, I limit myself to only one tequila shot with the co-workers. I have to face these people again on Monday morning.
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2 comments:
Hey Mo, What is your job? YOu may have mentioned it, but Eli's always playing games on the other half of the computer screen when I get to read your blog!
I am laughing out loud!!
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