Life Lesson #1: The Cheeseman Cometh: Alcohol is No Excuse for Sticky Fingers

I woke up Friday morning with Patron floating in my esophagus. It was horrible. I blame it all on my bosses.

Thursday night was the office’s annual holiday extravaganza. The evening began with an anonymous gift exchange paired with office-made sangria, a sit down dinner complete with full open bar, and if you’re real troopers, such as my office buddy Pickles and myself, a pit stop for a few more cocktails before heading on home.

Highlights from the evening included our sixty-five-year-old shipping manger unwrapping his gift: a lovely set of anal beads. A crunk juice goblet, the word PIMP encrusted in rhinestones, was bestowed upon one of the salesmen. One of our designers got a blow job kit, complete with several different flavored lubricants, to which she sighed, “Oh, I always get these.”

I was quite satisfied when Pickles unwrapped my beautiful package: two six packs of Miller High Life and ten dollars worth of scratch-off tickets. I think she was more excited about the lotto stuff, until she didn’t win any money. I picked a box of Godiva chocolates – the prefect re-gift item.

Overall, the night was fun. I’m lucky in that most of the twenty or so employees that I work with enjoy going out and drinking inappropriately in front of each other. Particularly two out of my three bosses. These guys have at least a decade on me and have turned drinking into an art. They can put back two dozen beers without a second thought. And one in particular has a heart of gold.

“I know you two are going somewhere,” El Jefe remarked as Pickles and I put on our coats, trying to make a quiet exit after dessert.

“Of course! Come with us,” I answered.

“I can’t, I got my wife here. But have fun for me,” El Jefe said.

Well, if your boss gave you direct orders, you’d oblige as well, right? And so Pickles and I went merrily on our way, spreading good will and holiday cheer through a fuzzy haze of alcohol.

Ultimately, I know I wound up home, although at what time and cost, I wasn’t too sure. Yet.

Which leads me to Friday morning. I crawled to my desk at 9 am, a giant water bottle pressed to my lips and what felt like Death squeezing my temples.

Much like the entire country’s workforce, my friends and I email each other throughout the day, regardless of how busy we are. On Friday, I was incapable of being busy. But I was capable of emailing out in desperation:

I can’t see straight.
I almost threw up on the subway.
This is not very good.

To which Madonna promptly replies to all:

Oh dear…

I was awakened by the door opening at 3:30am. Yes- Penny decided to stroll in at 3:30. I didn’t see her initially in the morning, but after I got into a cab, realized I didn’t have my wallet, and came back home, I found Princess Drunkyface looking aloof and quite hung-over wearing gray sweatpants and snow boots. A fine Friday outfit if I may say so myself. She was sucking down Gatorade and was in quite the state of confusion. The look on her face screamed “How the hell am I supposed to get to the subway, take the train, and then work all day?!”

I looked down and realize that I was still wearing said gray sweatpants and snow boots. Thank God for relaxed company policy.

At that moment, my first recollection of the night hit me. I quickly dial Pickle’s extension – she managed to make it in only moments before me – and ask a few questions.

Then I replied back to my friends:

I went home with a boy but changed my mind last minute.
Then had him walk me home because it was raining and I didn’t have an umbrella.
Pickles just confirmed he looks kind of like the host from Fear Factor.

I got a reply back from Westchester:

Hahahahahaha. And the TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE!!!!!

Rapid-fire emails were coming from all directions. And I remember that when I was trying to find my keys earlier that morning, I instead found a wrapped gift in my bag. Not sure what it was but without any time to find out, I had tossed it on my bed and left for work. I called Pickles back – did someone give me a present when we were out? Nope, not that she can remember.

Another flashback on my part prompted me to write:

I think I stole a gift from this boy’s apartment.
Yea, I think I took it off his kitchen table….shit.

Westchester replies:

Wait just a second- you stole a gift from the boy you made out with last night? HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA.
That has absolutely 100% made my day.

Madonna, did you do anything last night that might compete with Penny being the Grinch and stealing the gifts from all the kids in Whoville, aka, some dude’s apt?

Madonna:

What I would have done to be a fly on the wall last night.....

And then another gem crystallizes in my head:

Wait.
I think he sells cheese for a living.
I gotta go check w/ Pickles….hold the phones.

I’m back.
Yep, cheese.
Pickles just confirmed…she went on to note that she has a friend that makes cheese, and Cheeseman asked for his number to get in contact w him…apparently I just stood there laughing.

Westchester replies:

Hahahahaha. This story just gets better by the hour.
So was the gift you stole tons of gourmet cheeses? Hahaha. Oh man I will have a field day with this one.

We went back and forth as the morning went on. As a flashback would come to me, I’d let the girls know:

He was normal I think…

Pickles thinks he was good looking.
But we both just realized that we were doing shots of Patron at 2 am because we thought it would be better than trying to drink a full vodka soda, so let’s be honest: I have no clue if Cheeseman is good looking or not.

Oh my god.

He walked me home because he lives only 2 blocks from our apartment! CRAP. Madonna and I can’t even look out our windows without seeing someone we know – the chances of me not running into this guy are slim to none! This is just the worst thing ever. WHAT IF HE KNOWS I STOLE FROM HIM?!?

Life Lesson # 1: No matter how drunk I get, stealing is wrong. I’m pretty sure it’s a commandment that remains in effect regardless of circumstance, particularly intoxication.

When I finally went home on Friday and opened the package, it wasn’t even good. More gourmet chocolate! I mean, not that a good gift would make it okay to have turned klepto or anything, but seriously? I already got chocolates from work.

I guess I kind of hoped it was cheese.