Boss by Day, Nacho by Night

So this happened last night…

I went out the other night with a friend for 2 quick glasses of chard then planned to be home in bed before Conan. As we sat at the bar and drained our first glass over a thrilling game of “fuck, marry, kill”, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I spun around quickly to see my boss (Nuts), and before I could squeak out a high pitched “What are you doing here” his lips were in my ear as we engaged in the awkward boss/co-worker social tango.

There was no time to protest as he drug my friend and I into the back section of the restaurant where lo and behold, half of the office sat over an elegant dinner of salmon and boring work conversation – I plopped down in between 2 of my bosses and tucked my napkin into my lap giving my friend the “this should only take a minute” look. Suddenly bottles of wine arrived and I gulped to the beat of those around me to loosen up and relax – so much for 2 drinks. 4 glasses and a couple hours later I was slurping mussels while indulging in both a dry white and a fruity red, calling my bosses Sons of Bitches from across the table. Every other tooth was stained red as I kept both hands occupied by taking sips from every glass on the table.

As the double fisting persisted, all work convo had ceased. We clinked glasses and hooted and hollered over “Which intern’s face would you most like to sit on” and “If you were to go crazy and bring a gun to work who would you shoot first”. I was on fire with my answers and these people loved me. I no longer cared my night had almost been ruined. I was part of the boss club now and finally admitted that I had been the one who jammed the $4,000 copier. Phew, that felt good to get off my big chest. The night began dwindling down as we drank the bar dry - the bill arrived appearing 4 four feet long and the boss to my right handed me her credit card to pay. I squinted at the bill with my good eye, signed with my bad hand, then threw the check to the waitress, boss style.

Back at the valet I leaned against the stand and fumbled with a cigarette – these people had to know I smoked like a boss, valeted like a boss, and tipped like a boss. I double gun winked the group shouting out, “See you sons of bitches tomorrow” and hopped into my ride. Man I was cool.  

My red and white liquid dinner had left me famished so I decided to treat myself to some light fare from Taco Bell – 2 volcano tacos, 1 small nacho, 1 cheesy quesadilla and a sierra mist on ice please: the classic standard. As the sloppy bag of hot poop came through the window I knew something wasn't right – I reached into the bag and pulled out the hot orange shell, inspecting it first then biting down deep. DORITOS taco? No bueno, Ese. This ain't no beefy volcano! I immediately saw red and not just because a Taylor Swift song simultaneously came on the radio. I backed my car up a few feet and righted myself with the drive-thru Hermosa. Yo! I ordered a volcano taco, not a Doritos taco – What, did you think, I wouldn't notice? The woman responded back in what appeared to be lazy Spanish: No, si, sorry, you go now, puta! Locos tacos pintos FRITOS! I looked at her cross eyed as I tried to crack the code of her native tongue while cheesy Doritos dust filled the cracks of my mouth. As her Spanish became increasingly foreign I gave up on ever receiving the volcano. 

I pulled out of the drive-thru with force – how could that Madre make such a simple mistake, I thought aloud, as I greedily bit down into my second Dorito disaster. The cheese and grease became one with my steering wheel as I careened home, allowing 1 chip dip in the nacho cheese cup at each stop sign I ran. Pulling into home safely I slammed my car into its spot and jerked the stick into park – hard. Taco Bell lady had pushed me too far and man was I feeling loco.

As I tried to turn my car off I realized the key wouldn't wiggle out of the ignition– examining my situation further I noticed in my fit of rage, I had broken the piece that slides the shifter into the different gears. Shit – broken shifter, worthless keys, wrong tacos. Could this night get any worse? Why did I feel like the whole world was against me? So, I did what only a boss would do. I hoovered the rest of my meal, left my car unlocked and unsanitary, then marched upstairs bowlegged to pass out in my clothes and deal with the mess and mild sauce in the morning.

Cheers to Broken Dreams and Being a Boss,

WAZ