Wednesday, popularly referred to as hump day, is that proverbial ray of bright light at the end of the tunnel. The reason I take the time to elaborate my anticipation of Wednesdays is because I’m always happy on Wednesdays, lunch breaks start to get longer, partners and managers start leaving early, and of course happy hours begin on Wednesdays. It’s usually sunshine and daisies for me on Wednesdays.

Not today.

I had to drive myself, the gay intern and the Data bitch to a new client’s office at the crack of dawn. (Quick trivia: if you combine the gay intern with the data bitch, what do you get? Verbal Diarrhea.) When I think client’s office, I imagine what I’ve always imagined since my undergrad years - a fancy high rise with professional looking furniture and busy suits running around as if every minute were worth a million bucks. Part of it had stood true until Garmin parked us in the middle of suburbia, in front of this big house with a snobby looking lawn. We look at each other as if we’re lost and double check the address provided to us by the Senior Bitch, who by way of introduction has full discretion over my work life. I call senior bitch and tell her that we’re in the middle of suburbia and verify the address, just in case she misplaced an alphabet or something (main/maine st.) maybe?

“He runs it from home, you should know by now, btw, get the numbers on those by midday today” click the line goes dead. And you wonder why I’m a bitch to the intern, call me crazy but they don’t call it tone at the top for nothing. It’s 9 already and I’m thirsty as heck for a vodka martini with a fresh olive.

I park the car on the street, shut down the engine and hand over the keys to the gay intern as I attempt to carry the stack of binders and my laptop. As I’m walking towards the house, I hear a freakishly loud scream and a profane cry to God. I turn around and see both the data bitch and gay intern staring down into the sewer/rain drain. They look up and tell me that they’ve dropped the my keys into the drain.

I can feel the stress creeping in and my neck starts to stiffen, I don’t even want to comprehend how the whole thing could have happened. But I suspect gay intern hasn’t quite completed his twitter update.

After 3 whole hours of poking into the sewer with 3 coat hangers combined (generously provided to us by the dying millionaire), we finally manage to get my keys out. The only form of alcohol I’ve drank is Dayquil (if it has any), it’s late and Senior Bitch is still online for obvious reasons. I miss my old cafeteria job in college, provided it were located on 33rd street in OCMD.

Sleep tight peeps.