Late for Work

I woke up today hungover and groggy, turned to my side and saw the alarm clock: 11:30 am. "SHIT!", I yelped. I was late for work.

I don't use the word "yelp" here to dramatize the story. I actually shrieked and jumped out of bed like an arrow, standing half asleep in the middle of my room. For about half a minute I stood frozen, feet glued to the ground and head cocked to the side, trying to figure out what day of the week it was and where I was supposed to be. The room was silent and I was focused, eyeballs quickly jerking left and right - the only sign of mental exertion. 

It was like a scene out of The Matrix - as if time slowed down and I was about pull some sort of freak move out of my pocket; leap into the air and kung-fu kick some predator's ass out of my 10x10 Queens bedroom. Except there were no evil villains...I was just a confused, still-a-little-bit-drunk crazy man, trying to figure out the day of the week.

"What the hell!" I cried, now mildly frightened that I've made no progress. My attention is momentarily captured by the blinking red light emitted from my BlackBerry. "It's totally my boss," I thought to myself. "I am royally fucked". 

The incoming message is not from my boss; a temporary relief ensues. I manage to make my way into my mobile calendar and unearth that today is Saturday: I do not need to be at work. That in fact yesterday was Friday, I drank myself stupid until 3 am and now I'm sleeping it off. And that my heart is racing not because I'm dying but because I'm a complete ass.

I drop back into bed and pass out. Late for work I'm not.