I got to work this morning and sat down for another fun, thrilling day at MattCo, when my officemate said to me, “Has Michael talked to you this morning?” Michael is my boss.

I said, “No, why?”

“He needs to have a word with you.”

“About what?”

“I can’t say anymore.”

Oh, shit. This isn’t going to be good. I’m racking my brain trying to think where I screwed up, and Michael walks in to my office:

“Matt, I know you’ve been under some pressure getting these reports out lately, but I found something that I think we need to talk about.”

Shit, shit, shit. What did I screw up?

“I found some things in your desk and we might need to set up a Betty Ford thing.”

Then he opens my desk drawer and retrieves the bottles vodka, rum and a champagne he had stashed there to mess with me.

Heh.

We’re expanding our office into the vacant suite next door. Apparently, Michael was in there this morning trying to figure out the layout of the new offices, and just found all this booze under the kitchen sink in there. I think it’s a good omen.