Happy Birthday (To Me)

Nobody remembered my birthday this year... Nobody except ME!
SCRIBBLED ALMOST INCOHERENTLY ONTO A NAPKIN AT RED LOBSTER:

"Well, today's my birthday and what a horrendous birthday it was. I work the graveyard shift and so naturally, I slept until 5pm. I rose from my bed, which just happens to be a couch, and staggered into the kitchen to prepare my birthday dinner. Because of the fact that no one besides myself knows of my birthday today, I celebrate it in the privacy of my own home, often times weeping hysterically and gulping whiskey until I'm lost in a blind stupor. This year, however, I have to go to work at 8pm, so I was forced to exclude the crying part of my ritual. After all, I don't want my co-workers seeing my tear-stained face when I report for duty. I like to portray the essence of a tough, manly man at all times when I'm on the clock. I digress.

I stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, with hardened yellow crust still in the corners of my bloodshot eyes, to prepare my birthday feast. I poured the remainder of an old box of generic corn flakes into a bowl and doused it with what looked more like cottage cheese than milk. After consuming the cereal, I pulled a large bottle of Jamison Whiskey out of the cupboard. I began to guzzle the sweet whiskey; much like a thirsty young Rhodesian lad guzzles water on a hot afternoon. Ah, sweet relief.

Over an hour later, the bottle of Jamison had long been emptied, as well as a pint of tequila, half a bottle of cheap wine, and four beers. I looked at my watch... I couldn't quite make out the time. The hands on my watch seemed ever so blurry. After closer inspection, I realized that my watch was, in fact, digital. No matter though, as I still couldn't make out what time it was. I figured it was probably getting close to the time I had to be at work... I lumbered into my closet and pulled on my uniform. Then I promptly passed out, violently smashing my forehead on the corner of the dresser as I fell.

When I awoke, it was dark outside. My head was bleeding and I was still very drunk. I got out of my clothes and into my bathrobe. Then I headed out the door. I needed to find a bar of some kind.

The closest bar to me just happens to be at a Red Lobster across the street. I walked through the doors and pushed aside the hostess who was trying politely to seat me. I made a beeline to the bar. And by beeline, I mean I made a trip to the bathroom to vomit first. I reached the bar and ordered a tall glass of whiskey, which they declined to serve me. Angrily, I demanded a glass of whiskey but my request was met with a cold glare from the bartender. He then poured me a small juice-glass of the cheapest, dirtiest whiskey I've ever tasted.

As I sat there sipping my fourth glass of atrocious whiskey, I realized that I had neglected to bring my wallet.

So here I am, sitting at the bar, drinking terrible liquor, and contemplating my escape. I suppose I could just leap from the bar stool like a giant baboon, and then dash for the exit, hoping my drunkenness will not hinder my escape, but I fear I am being watched from all sides and the detestable staff of this establishment probably expects something of this nature. I could always soil myself and then pretend to have a massive heart attack, hoping to be rushed out in an ambulance, whereupon I experience a miraculous recovery during the drive to the hospital. On second thought... the previous gentleman who was sitting to the right of me seems to have left a 20 dollar bill sitting under his empty glass. Yoink!"