It had been a late day at work.

Another programmer invited me for scotch and basketball at the bar across the street. It seemed like a good idea at the time…

When I got there, I ordered some Macallan 12 year-old scotch. The Good Stuff.

Well, normally when one orders scotch, especially the Good Stuff, one expects two fingers. Maybe three on a lucky day. This bartender? She gave me a fist-full. I mean, I had less gratuitous pours of milk as a child.

And being the dedicated epicurean ass I am, I drank it. There was a wager that I would not be able to finish. Ah Ha! Showed them.

At the point where I was finished, I think I may have been too drunk to say, ride the bus. So I opted to stay at work and get stuff done (and maybe release some code, you know). And I ran into my director, which must have made for an interesting conversation:

Yesshhh. I stinks we sshhould be building. Rockets. Today. But you’re a good bossh. Truley. Best bossh I’ve had in Days.

What fun.