Happy hour

Its 4.00 pm (story told in retro - its actually 5.56 now.). Lady J who used to work with us and migrated to greener pastures shows up at the office. Claims she has a few frothy ones at the back of her pickup. I'm just happy to see her. The assertion that she actually does is even more welcome. She hands over the keys as she goes about saying hi to the other guys. Like a bat outta hell I make tracks towards the car. Good thing the back of the track is covered (is there a word for the cabin at the back. Wait. Cabin?). I fumble with the lock. Is anyone watching? C'mon you doggone lock. Free! I peer in. Is this just some trick to find out what a slut for alcohol I am? Well, if so Lady J, you were right! Wait. What do I see. I heft myself into the cabin. Its dark. The windowless kind. There, at the far corner. A crate? Yes a crate! Full? Aaaah. The crazy broad has drank most of them anc can't remember. I count 8. 8 tuskers. Not bad I say. Pop! With my teeth. Never learn. Cracked one last week or something cause of the same thing. Use the other side of my jaw.

Where to sit? Who cares?! Pull a ka paper lying around. Set my a$$ on the bump above the tyre and get to it. Door is slightly ajar. No one can really see inside so I'm good. Then I think to myself, why do I really care if I'm seen? I'm a grown a$$ man dog! I can pull my nuts out right now and flash someone with them! Ok, wait. Thats the alcohol talking. Suddenly a shadow is cast upon the door to the cabin. I'm about to yell "who darkens my door!!". Oh. Its Mr. M. A fellow drunk. Must have smelt it while in the office. But news of alcohol always spreads fast. Welcome Mr. M! Have a seat. There you go. One for you. He informs me Lady J. says she is leaving very soon. What?! What about all this alcohol? Shucks. Quick. Must think. No way she is leaving with this treasure trove. Meanwhile Lady J. is spreading the news of a crate of alcohol in the office when they were actually 8, now 6, left.

I pull out my phone. Who cares that I'm on my last 100 bob of airtime. There's greater things at stake. You are thinking it would be easier to go into the office and talk to her but, I don't think so. I was trying my hand at that multitasking thing women have down.
I: Lady J?
She: Yes Kamikaze?
I: You are not leaving with this alcohol (very matter of factly)
She: But I can't leave the bottles.
I: Screw the bottles. You are not leaving with them. Come back for the bottles tomorrow. They'll be here. (Sensing that this discussion is not headed anywhere, she acquiesces).
She: Ok.
I: Good girl.
Click phone off. With the look of a man who just saved the world from definite doom, a thing I always do, I inform Mr. M. that its all good. She'll come for the bottles tomorrow. You finish that one up and lets figure how to conceal them and get them back to the office. He looks at me in a reverent way and nods his head. I gulp my last sip down and inform him that I'm going to track down some paper bags for the excursion back to the office. Again the nod.

I nimbly jump out of the cabin. Lo! There's two guys making tracks for the pickup. Good thing Mr. M. is in there to keep the loot safe. Its Mrs. M (no relation) and young man S. I pass them quickly. You know what a tusker gulped in less than 5 minutes does to you? Messes your vision and thinking. Focus man! I get back to the office and set about interrogating anywhich person I come across. Look them in the eye and demand to know the whereabouts of a paper bag. I know the damn things have been banned, but you have one. Give it up! First victim denies any knowledge. Can't waste time bringing out the interrogation equipment. Time is of the essence. March to the next one. This one knows what the paper bag is for and is stalling. News spreads fast/ mis-information spreads fast and she wants a piece of the action. You got what I want or not? I do. Hand it over lady. Gently. She produces a small thing that can't hold the six bottles left. I take it and move on. Hey, Old Lady J, you got what I want? The nice old lady smiles and asks what it's for. I reply its for "stuff". She smiles again and produces something worth smiling about. For me. I grab it and dash out.

Head back to the cabin. Mr. M. has been sweet talked by Mrs. M. (again no relation, but I'm thinking Mr. M. wants to have relations. Get it? Thats a terrible line, forgive me.). Mr. M agrees to give her 2 items from the package. It was three each. Now 2 for everyone. Ah well. All good.

We load the loot onto our new bags and head back. Close the cabin door, almost smack a kiss on it and get to moving. Walk in and most guys seem to be staring. Get them to my desk and stash the loot. Back to work. An endless hour and a half or so. Then work was done.

Mr. M. came and sat down at the table next to me. Bottles were popped open and the drinking started. The drinking is not yet over cause I was writing this post. Mr. M. is done with his two. So is Mrs. M. A few more gulps and I'll be done and in need of more of the good stuff.

Adios!