July 27, 2003

  • Immediately after my regular work Friday, I had to travel a couple hundred miles to Pittsburgh to prepare for a work-related 'emergency contingency test' on Saturday.  You see, if my workplace in Cleveland were to become, for example, the successful target of a terrorist attack, those surviving would hop in a car, get their asses to Pittsburgh, and resume operations.

    So Friday night, I hopped in a car, got my ass to Pittsburgh, and was about to retire to my hotel room when a group of fellow employees cajoled me to join them for a few drinks out.  It was one of those 'oh I'll just have a few beers so as not to seem totally antisocial' considerations on my partmy personal inclination was just to lazy around the Westin and write.

    So we ended up at a place called the Bash where drinks were cheap ($1) and chatter was abundant.   A masseuse named Heather was giving free massages in a massage chair and, through the course of the night, I had three.  Does that seem excessive?
     
    Well, it turned out to be the least of my excesses as I, the reluctant I’ll-just-have-a-few-beers-to-avoid-appearing-antisocial hermit, transformed under a waterfall of drinks into an unquenchable conversationalist, almost too daring in approach yet thriving in engagements. I think I shocked my fellow employees since I was practically ignoring them all while striking up animated conversations amidst an influx of babes that seemed endless.  But I was harmless, purely harmless, I swear.


    Besides, I got so wasted at the Bash that my participation in the contingency testing early the next morning did, indeed, simulate a relocating situation where I felt that I had survived, yet not unscathed, a battering onslaught from a most ferocious force.  Battered by drink, battered by beauty,  Damn life, damn, damn, damn.

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