Indiana Jones and the Flourescently Lit Cubicle of Mediocrity
Photo by Sylvar
You know, these days, I can remember strolling down stairs one fine hung over Sunday morning at the ripe old age of nineteen. Being a college sophomore and, well, Irish, I did what any fine young lad should do the night before: got shit housed.
I remember hearing my sister who was a few years out of college ramble on about how she had just been promoted, but work had gotten, “kind of depressing”. I sat there grilling about six pieces of toast thinking to myself “ I stuff bread in my stomach it will somehow absorb the alcohol and take the sharp pains out of my frigging head,” but, besides that, thinking to myself, “what the hell is this chick babbling on about? She majored in economics, what did she think she was gonna be? Indiana Fricken Jones?” Read more…
