The Drunk
When I was 17/18 I worked for a local council. At one point I was working in the office at one of the depots for a few months.

I had a boss there with whom no one would ride in his car. Because he was always pissed. He started work at 7:30am and would arrive pissed. You could smell him from a couple of metres away.

I started at 8:30am then an hour later was morning tea during which more beer was consumed. Of course. Afterall it's 9:30am and when you're drunk all of the time you need to top yourself up.

The men's toilets were opposite the women's. Maybe 1.5metres apart. Way too close. The women's toilet door was kept closed - there were only two of us and we were trying to protect ourselves from the stench of the men's toilets entering the women's toilet and possibly melting the porcelain bowl. Sadly the men left their dunny door open. So there were lots of unfortunate views of titty mags, smears (don't ask, you know what I mean), often no toilet paper (god knows what they used to wipe given they all sure as hell emptied their putrid bowels daily, that or they had the most vile, straight from hell piss in the world) and a little table for titty mags and for when they thought they'd be a while in there and took a beer in too. Part of the brain must have been burnt out in all of those guys as to survive more than a second in that kind of violent, almost visible fug would kill a normal person.

I was instructed to store any questions I had for alco-boss each day and ask them all at once near the end of the day. He couldn't handle a question every so often. It riled up his alcoholic temper. Most especially if he was required to read his own writing. Focusing after sloshing down enough beer to flood a small country was pretty much beyond him.

There was one man working there who was nice and impressively not an alcoholic, nor a perv or someone who thought drinking on the job and especially, driving, was a good idea. He or the one other semi-decent chap would come in on some days a couple of hours before my usual knock-off time (5pm), and tell me it was time to go. The first time I was really surprised and asked why, this was my first week. Apparently alco-boss had laid into the beer a lot (I was to find this was normal for most days) and he'd got to the point where he couldn't be trusted around women. The nice guy would stand there, wait for me to get my bag, turn off the computer and walk me outside ensuring I didn't run into alco-boss. Alco-boss never really had an excellent command of language and his leering and sexist comments were standard but after a certain point he would degenerate to utter filth, not to mention his acting out of certain things he'd like to do with women (he was married, I don't know how his wife coped with him, she was apparently a nice person).

I got used to being sent home early at various times but I never lost that sense of urgency to get out of there once I'd been told to leave. Alco-boss was a nasty drunk and how he got home each night and to work the next day is beyond me. He drove a big ute and swerved all over the road. He's dead now. And so he fucking should be the filthy cunt.
(Dog Bum Cute, wiggly, has scary anal glands, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 0:11, Reply)