“Max, you’ve got that story finished, right?” David popped his head around the corner of Max’s cubicle, startling the man who was typing up another report. He accidentally hit several wrong letters, and he turned around with a sigh.
“Please don’t do that.”
David only chuckled. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound very apologetic. “Anyway. That story?”
Max went to his drawer and retrieved the story from inside. He was hesitant to hand it over, but he knew that if he didn’t, his job would be in jeopardy. After a short internal debate, he turned and gave David the thick stack of papers.
The man gave one look and widened his eyes. “Wow, Max. When you said you had it covered, I didn’t think you meant this covered. I hope you’ve done extensive research for this big a story.”
“I have.”
Flipping through some of the pages, he idly nodded and wandered out of the cubicle. “Chris! I need the Drunk Pilot story ASAP!” He called as he left. Max went back to his typing, fixing the mistake from before.
He drifted off into concentration for a few minutes, ignoring the world around him and just focusing on the work at hand. He didn’t hate his job, per se, it had it’s days.
“Max!”
The journalist jumped again, once again startled into typing wrong words on the report. Shaking his head, he turned to glare at Megan who grinned back.
“What?” He asked in a monotone. She laughed a little.
“Most of the crew are going out for a drink tonight. The Good Time Grill at 6 o’clock. You know, a little celebration for getting this quarter done without dying.”
“I don’t know…” Max hesitated. Megan rolled her eyes.
“Come on. You’ve only gone to a few work parties and when you do, you leave fifteen minutes in. Just enjoy yourself a little.” He didn’t want to admit that she was right. She could see he was wavering. “Drinks are on David tonight, and there’ll be entertainment and great food and embarrassing work stories and maybe Jillian will get drunk and make out with some random guy again and-”
“Alright, alright! I’ll go.” He held up his hands in surrender, mostly to spare him from any more juicy office gossip. Megan fist pumped the air and grinned.
“Awesome! Now Rick owes me ten bucks” She winked, turning back to her own cubicle. Forgetting something, she turned around. “Oh, and no work attire. This is a casual only party, Max Lister. If I see you in a sweater or slacks…” She made the universal sign for ‘I’m watching you’ before slowly going back to her cubicle.
Shaking his head in wonder, Max went back to his report.
Max went over his chosen outfit once more, eyeing the plain t-shirt and jeans he was so unused to wearing. The old tennis shoes were comfortable and familiar, but the rest of the ensemble was alien. He’d dug around in his closet for something that wasn’t work related, but was unsuccessful until the very bottom drawer. It was some gift from his sister, he thought. What Christmas it came from though, he couldn’t remember.
Deciding that he’d be late if he stalled any longer, and knowing exactly what Megan would say if he was, he snatched his keys up and headed out the door.
The parking lot was packed, but not full, and he found a spot after a few minutes. There was a line and a wait. Checking his watch, he saw it was seven minutes past 6, so he figured most of the people were already there. Slipping past the line, and ignoring the few dirty looks he was given, he went up to the hostess at the small podium. The bar served as a restaurant on the other side, and she looked a little frazzled.
“Can I help you, sir?” She asked. He glanced around but couldn’t see anyone from work.
“Um, I’m here with the Daily Post group.” The hostess glanced down at a paper before giving a small smile.
“Yes, they’re in the reserved room in the back.” She pointed at the back of the bar. “If you go all the way in and turn left, you’ll find them.”
“Oh, thank you.” He slipped into the bar and approached the back of the room. Looking left, he saw that another room adjoined the large bar area. Many people from work were drinking from wine glasses.
Megan was talking among a group of women from reception. She saw him as he approached. She smiled brightly.
“Max! You made it! I was half worried you would ditch out.” A few guys gave him a wave, and he waved back quietly.
“Yeah, sorry I’m a little late.”
“Oh, no. You’re just fashionably late. Besides, David hasn’t even showed up yet and he’s paying for the drinks!” She took another sip of her drink.
“Megan! Show us your dartboard skills!” Some guy at the back of the room called. Megan glanced behind her before giving Max an apologetic look.
“I would stay and talk but it sounds like I’m being challenged. I’ll see you later!” She scurried off to join the guys at the dartboard, leaving Max with the receptionists he only saw for a minute every morning.
He couldn’t even remember their names. The two women looked off awkwardly, uncomfortable with his unfamiliar presence. Taking the hint, he moved off to watch the billiards game going on between several men.
A waitress carrying a tray of alcohol and glasses went round. She spotted Max, who didn’t have one in his hand, and approached. “Would you like a drink, sir?”
He was about to refuse but she poured him a glass before he could respond. Not wanting to be rude, he took the drink and took a tiny sip. She gave a smile before walking off. The alcohol burned his throat when he swallowed it, but he stopped himself from making a face.
The atmosphere was very lively; the newest pop mix was blasting over the speakers, blue and green lights flitted across the room, the food smelled great, the billiards table was surrounded by curious onlookers…
Max was extremely uncomfortable with the large amount of people in a small, confined space. The air was sweaty and hot, making the t-shirt he was wearing stick to his body a little. He pulled at the collar a few times to make it a little more bearable, but it only served to let more hot air down the fabric.
There wasn’t a window in sight. The music and people’s laughing and talking were too loud for his liking. He didn’t connect with many coworker anyway, so there was no one to talk to about anything. He’d love to strike up a conversation about the last episode of Dexter or chat about video game theory, but he assumed no one had the same interests as him.
So there he stood, extremely uncomfortable in a packed bar, holding a drink he was not going to consume, knowing his time would have been better spent sitting at home with his favorite book and a cup of herbal tea. He only regretted he agreed to coming in the first place.
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