***DISCLAIMER: We do not encourage the consumption of alcoholic beverages at the workplace. What follows is a [greatly exaggerated] first-hand account based on true events. No one was harmed during this piece, we are professionals after all.
“Did you know it’s National Drink Wine Day?”
The words echoed out like a chorus of angels. Could this be true? Tell us, could this be real? How can we put into words how we feel? We weren’t sure, but we were gonna try.
Always on top of things, a staff writer is already on their way out the door, their destination undoubtedly the nearby 7-11. While they're gone, we begin the task of coming up with an appropriate title for our homage to National Drink Wine Day because after all, if we don’t write about it, it didn’t happen. We quickly rule out “Our quest to celebrate National Drink Wine Day” because BOOOOORING, and briefly debate the merits of “We celebrated National Wine Day so you don’t have to.” Finally, we settle on the words that made you click on this story.
Staff writer returns, a bottle of Gato Negro Cabernet Shiraz (and a package of double-stuffed Oreos) in hand. We grab a few coffee cups from the office kitchen and get ready to put in some work.
Selfies with said bottle of wine and coffee cups.
Package of double-stuffed Oreos is opened.
Everything on the Internet starts to become more amusing. “Future’s coming back to Detroit tomorrow?! Hell yeah, stripper Instagrams are SO GOOD when Future’s in town!” someone exclaims excitedly, causing some other poor soul to ask “Who’s Future?”
Staffers explain the cultural significance of Future, pour more wine.
Staffer writes blog post about Future. Asks for suggestions on Facebook status for article.
“The Future is now, but not really, it’s actually tomorrow” causes an unreasonable amount of laughter amongst staff, but we stick with it.
One staffer realizes coffee and wine don’t mix and excuses themselves to the bathroom.
Staffer returns from bathroom, ending National Drink Wine Day festivities for themselves.
We convince a member of the sales department to make another wine trip for us by saying we’ll share. They always fall for this trick. Double-stuffed Oreos and our dignity is still in tact.
We use said Oreos to quell the grumblings of our stomachs and rejoice when the sales rep returns. We then learn they’re carrying an economy-size bottle of Peach Moscato and rejoice a bit less. We rinse out our mugs and pledge to continue our celebratoins. Talk about true dedication to a story.
An impromptu Fetty Wap listening/karaoke party begins. “Trap Queen” blares from someone’s laptop. Cue discussion on Fetty Wap, who will also be in town on Friday, and wehether or not he’s a leading contemporary voice for feminism, which ends the conversation because feminism is just like, wayyyy too heavy for National Wine Drinking Day.
We cheers to feminism. Over and over and over again.
The typos are real. Yes, we know. No, we don’t care. We're drunk.
“How do you spell significance?” - actual question asked by staffer.
“WHO CARES?” interjects a senior staff writer who is spinning another staffer around in their chair.
Senior staffer yells “I’M THE CAPTAIN NOW!” and members of other departments begin to walk over and show concern.
We face our computers and all simultaneously pull up Google Analytics. “Your lips are purple,” a member of production points out. We’ve always admired their attention to detail.
More spelling questions are asked.
The final drops of Moscato are poured and everyone begins to ask, “Is it hot in here? No, like really really hot?”
We go outside.
The FedEX guy comes and we try to ignore the steaming pile of Oreo vomit that almost made it into the bushes.
Someone notices a LinkedIN notification on their phone and reminds the group, “Um, hey, we’re at work.”
We begin to dance and sing Rihanna and Drake’s “Work” in a circle outside the office front doors. Someone notices the FedEX guy is now trying to exit the buildling. We part the seas and let him through, bidding him a “Happy Nasssshional Wine Day, BAE!”
More Oreos are consumed. So manyy OREOS.
On the way to the kitchen to dispose of our wine-stained mugs, someone drops a cup, prompting the nearby receptionist to come over and ask us if everything’s ok. We ask her if she knows who Future is and if she’ll be our Trap Queen, to which she responds: Go home, guys. You’re drunk. She may or may not be used to this.
4:00pmWe take her advice, as always, and call an Uber, but not before hitting Publish on this blog post. Hapy National Drunk Wine Day. We're gonna go lay down.