It was the end of freshman year of college, and like many freshman, I was looking for a summertime job. A friend of mine had recommended that I look to take a late night shit with a well known, global, mail-carrying service as a worker on the loading dock. It seemed like an easy way to work a couple hours per day and make a decent salary, so I agreed.

My pal set me up with an interview time and the employer asked that I be there at 11pm on Sunday evening, as this was the shift that I would be working. That particular Sunday was the same day one of my good friends was moving away from our college town. He asked that all of his friends come over to celebrate by drinking beers and watching a NASCAR race at his house. This seemed innocent enough. I figured I would go over there, have a drink or two, then when all was said and done head over to my job interview. But as we all know, college-aged men don’t just have one or two. My one or two turned into three and ended somewhere near…well too many. To my amazement, I take a look at my watch and see that it is well past time to stop drinking before I head to my upcoming job interview. A rational man would just cancel the interview, but not this man.

On my way over to the interview I am thinking of ways to sober up; no time for a nap or some greasy food, so gum will have to do. As I arrive to the loading docks and the watchman points me in the right direction I’m thinking to myself, I don’t know how I got myself into this situation. I end up seated with the supervisor and charming her with some of my good ol’ boy stories and have her eating out of the palm of my hand. Who knows maybe she was an alcoholic and didn’t even notice the stench?

The information and interview portion is over and now it is time to take a tour of the warehouse. That seems simple enough, right? The tour is long and seems to just go around and around. This is a problem. What can someone who’s been drinking not do? Go very long without having to use the bathroom.

As I walk around the warehouse with the ten or so people in my group I start to get desperate. Looking back, I probably could have just asked someone to use the bathroom, but that logic doesn’t fly when you’re inebriated. I clumsily made my way to the back of the group, and once I had a little distance, I began to urinate in the middle of the loading dock floor. To this day, I have no idea how none of the workers loading trucks all around me didn’t say anything to me, or no one from my group simply turned around and pointed me out. As I finished up my business, I zipped up and ran away from the mess that I had made. I snuck back into the rear portion of my group and finished the tour.

The greatest part of the story is that I was later offered a position as a late-shift worker by the company.

-Costanza