I really shouldn’t drink around coworkers.
Picture on the left shows the fallout of lunch from last Friday. Apparently, the company closed some kind of deal that involved other groups of people giving us money for goods and/or services, and, to celebrate, The Powers That Be decided to buy pizza for everyone. And beer.
Of course, Our Hero would never turn down free booze, so I had one. Or two. Whatever. The exact number doesn’t really matter. Point is, I wasn’t tipsy enough to start slurring or referring to coworkers as “my bitches” like I did during Name That Tune at the Ski Trip, but I’d had enough to get the stupid idea to actually talk to people. Trouble.
I started talking to the guy who runs the office’s NCAA basketball pool every year and mentioned that I’d love to participate (I think my exact words were something like “fuck yeah, I’ll take some bitches’ money”). Apparently I was a little overzealous in describing my love for college hoops, because the next thing I knew I’d agreed to help him run the pool. Fuck.
So now I’m starting to become “the tournament guy” in the office. People are coming to me for brackets, people are giving me completed brackets, people are asking me for tips on filling out their brackets. I’m handing out brackets, collecting brackets, and telling complete strangers to bet the farm on Austin Peay to take it all. Truth be told, I haven’t watched more than 10 seconds of college basketball total over the past 5 years, and that was just because I dropped the remote while flipping past ESPN2.
Best part of the whole thing so far was the email I received from one of the execs yesterday:
Hi Justin,
Thanks for working with <the other guy> on this important assignment. Sense [sic] you are new to the firm I thought a little history of our last NCAA Basketball pool would be helpful. I was in the lead until the final round at which time the person running the pool with <the other guy> won everything. That person is no longer with the firm.
Thanks again,
<exec guy>
Ok, so that actually made me chuckle.
Oh, second best part…
When I’m writing these posts in the office, I usually draft them in an email addressed to myself. To prying eyes, it looks like I’m just sending any old email. Well, when I saved this particular draft a few moments ago, my “fucks” and “bitches” apparently triggered the spam filter, so the whole IT staff was notified of my potty mouth:
Date/Time sent: 18 Mar 2008 09:23:21
Subject line:
From: Justin
To: ‘justin@neverbeencool.com’
Action taken: Deleted
Reason: Banned Content
File Name: File Size: 1668 Spam Score: Virus: Description: Info: Rule Group: Profanity (English) > Severity – High
Fucking bitches.
