I used to think that anyone who drank even before their breakfast toasts was a serious lush in need of an eye-opener after a desperate night of shameless bingeing. The shameful province of raging alcoholics who develop sweats without their daily tipple. Of course that was before I found myself inducted into the inebriated club myself.
Maybe just a sip...
You see, I've just finished a harrowing period of my life - actually spent more hours staring at the dull pastel walls of the hospital than in my own bed. Haven't done such a torturous back-breaking stretch since my days of internship. Imagine practically living in the hospital from day to day. Felt like I was in a medical reality-based version of Survivor with four varying personalities being incarcerated together on a daily basis in a gulag.
Gotta say now I've finished, I'm pretty good value for money. Working this many hours for such small wages, hell I'm a freaking bargain!
Not the only one who went through this grueling sweatshop / gulag since I had fellow inmates along who shared their tears and laughter with me. Well mostly insane laughter since we were far too distraught from endless work to shed a tear.
Today was liberation day - so to speak.
And as humans, we all cherish our little celebrations. The coming of a new day, the beginning of a new era, the end of a brutal regime! And what better way to celebrate than to share a pint. Slainte!
The bar had barely even opened its doors before we all stumbled in, a gang of sleepy-eyed zombies in search of inebriation - no doubt looking like we'd just done a hedonistic night-long pub crawl. Even the natty waiter seemed taken aback when the entire posse just flipped over to the cocktail menu immediately after he handed them to us. Must have thought we were all sex and the city alcoholics recently fallen off the wagon from the way we devoured the wine list in search of our own personal brand of poison.
Waiter : Perhaps some coffee?
Paul : Why? Do we look like a bunch of alcoholics?
Waiter : Uhh... yes.
Unflattering to be sure. Good help is so hard to find these days.
But over martinis and margaritas, we rehashed the events of the entire month from minor unprecedented storms such as Hurricane Hallie to the regular lashings of mother nature's fury. Seriously. Hell hath no fury as woman scorned.
Still we all survived the storm relatively unscathed. Reason enough to raise a glass.
Or maybe two.