Once at work you will play the part of a sober, responsible and professional individual who most certainly did not indulge in 9 jaeger bombs the night before. You will believe your performance worthy of an Oscar (or at least an egg mcmuffin – if you can stomach it just yet). You will greet fellow colleagues with a cheery disposition, even if you are dying inside. You will take slow and measured sips of water. After a couple of hours you will start to feel human again. You may or may not have “relieved” yourself at this point. Nonetheless your stomach fairies seem to be winning the battle with the internal vodka demons.
It’s mid morning. You feel fine. The demons appear to have lulled you into a false sense of security. You start contemplating lunch options. Do you go for something greasy and starchy to soak up whatever’s left of the toxic combination currently swishing around in your innards or do hedge your bets and pick the safer option of something light and bland?
After you have conducted a PH-test of acidity to alcohol ratio with a piece of toast or your preferred bland snack of choice and noted positive results you convince yourself you have now achieved Thor-like capabilities and there is no food worthy enough of a match for your enzyme breaking-down capabilities. Subsequently you comfort-eat away the fragmented memories of embarrassing faux pas’ you committed the previous night with a Big Mac or Double Whopper or Zinger Tower meal. You feel satiated. For about an hour.
At around 2 or 3pm a fresh bout of nausea hits. You’d convinced yourself you’d made it this far with only a couple of hours left in your soul destroying job and were sure you were well on your way to recovery.
After the third trip to the toilet (in which the final episode resembled something of an exorcism) you return to your desk truly and utterly defeated. You may have won the battle but alcohol won the war.