They arrived at the office. A case of cans filled with a new energy drink had been delivered to the marketing department.
At first, we were all apprehensive about trying the drink. Fast-forward a few hours and every desk had an open can of the drink on it. One of the publicists had spilled not one, but two cans of the drink on her computer keyboard on two separate occasions within an hour of each other. The Sales Coordinator was sitting at his desk shaking, I was giggling like a little school girl, and the Marketing Manager was on the phone with the drink's representative, trying to wrangle us more free cases of the stuff.
“Why are you twitching? What’s wrong with your eyes?” My boss asked me as I dropped off a report on her desk.
I ended up promising her, through the fits of giggles and the uncontrollable shaking that my left leg had started doing, that I wouldn’t have any more for the day.
I can see why a boss wouldn’t want her whole staff sitting at their desks, tweaking like crack addicts instead of getting work done, but there was something about this drink that made me think I could do anything.
“I’M GOING TO PAINT THE ENTIRE OFFICE,” I declared, as my shaking hands brought the can to my lips.
Of course, the old cliché unfortunately rang true for our beloved energy drink: what goes up, must come down. While we all felt incredibly energized and invincible for the span of three hours or so, on the train ride home after three cans, I became barely lucid and crawled into bed the minute I walked through my apartment door.
I’d like to think that as a fully-functioning adult that I’d be able to learn from situations like the one I described. I really didn’t need the energy drink to begin with, and I certainly didn’t need to guzzle three of them. But then six cases of the drink arrived at our office the following morning.
This situation is not unlike the ones that occur on the rough streets every day. Of course, I’ve not been witness to the “rough streets,” but I’ve seen enough episodes of Law & Order to know what’s going on. Give them a taste, and get them hooked. They’ll come back. They’ll have no choice.
Now was I not only drinking it, I found myself carrying the can around the office with me. Make a copy, take a sip. Fax something, take a sip. Send an email, take a sip. Give a report to my boss, take a sip.
“Amanda, you don’t even have enough work to do today to need an energy drink,” my boss said to me as I knocked back another pull from the can.
“WE HAVE SIX CASES,” I said as I stumbled out of her office.
This was the closest I had ever come to being drunk at work, unless you count all of the events that we held that just happened to have a two-hour open bar.
A few hours later, I was told that the marketing team had decided to serve the drink with vodka as a special drink at an event they were planning. I believe “I WILL DIE” was shouted.
My mind was racing (probably a side effect from the drink) through all of the possible scenarios that could happen if I mixed this drink with alcohol.
Scenario 1: My heart would explode. At least I would leave a beautiful corpse.
Scenario 2: The event would be a classy rooftop party. After three drinks, I will announce that R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly” is my new theme song, and jump from the roof, arms outstretched. In this scenario, the corpse probably wouldn’t be so beautiful.
“GUYS, SERIOUSLY, I CAN’T GO TO AN EVENT WHERE THIS DRINK AND VODKAS ARE SOLD. I CAN’T PROMISE WHAT WILL HAPPEN.”
Not wanting to tell my boss that her assistant leapt to her death at one of our marketing events, they all agreed that I’ll be barred from mixing the drink with alcohol.
Man, I can't wait to get my hands on another one of those tomorrow.
Labels: NYC, work related debauchery