No Shots For You

Last week, I jetted down to Key West for a long weekend of working, coordinating, and being an all-around travel agent to a hoard of salespeople. 

If  you happened to catch my post from two weeks ago (yea, I have been a major slacker, my apologies for zero posts last week), you might recall my mentioning my Spring Break-esque trip down to Florida to celebrate a few of our top salespeople's achievements this year. The trip went almost perfectly (there was one snag - the hotel lost one of my very, very important boxes and my boss was not pleased). 

I did have one fear going into the trip and that was consuming alcohol. The most drinking I have done around co-workers has been at going-away parties and cocktail parties. But I'm not exaggerating when I say I would abstain from drinking more than two glasses of wine/beer. Getting drunk and telling off my boss scared me sober. At my old company, it was easy to avoid drinking. Usually when I was working events, drinking a few glasses while on the job would be deemed tacky. And when I was in social settings, it was easy to nurse a glass of wine. 

My new job, however, has led me into a land of temptation where our sales team will moan and groan if they aren't given more than two drink tickets at a work happy hour function paid for by our company. This trip was especially tricky because it involved being "off" the job on a tiny island where it was highly probable that I would happen upon my co-workers and my boss at bars on Duval Street. And gasp I might be drunk.

And happen upon them drunk I did. I saw one co-worker unsuccessfully try to pick up girls by buying them Jell-O shots. One co-worker, when asked if he had had a good night responded with, "Yes, and a great morning" - yea ew. And another co-worker drunkenly followed me and my friend back to our room (stopping only to thrust his pelvis a few times while in front of our boss's hotel room) to only realize that he had gone two floors too high when he couldn't find room 235 on the fourth floor. Over-served is an understatement. 

The whole purpose of this trip of course was to relax. And when I say relax, I mean the salespeople who had won the trip were there to kick back. I was there to work. So I was naturally nervous to consume one too many beverages when I was off the clock. Which was confirmed, when as I was about to shove a Jell-O shot of my own down my throat, one of higher up salespeople told me I should veer away from any kind of shots. Apparently, my boss loathes them. Which he then followed up with, "Don't worry, I won't tell him I saw you take one." Which of course caused me to have a minor panic attack.

So I threw out that shot of raspberry Jell-O and vodka goodness, and ordered another beer. Any other shots that were bought for me by co-workers that night, I would pretend to take and then throw out. I was being overly cautious, but let's just say I was glad I didn't have to lay on the floor of my hotel bathroom the whole next day. 

While I can't say that I wasn't a teensy bit inebriated most nights of my work vacation, I can truthfully say that I didn't embarrass myself in front of my boss (though I have to admit I made one of my co-workers pretend to be my older brother to ward off a 40-something drunken tourist with a tongue ring who just would not leave me alone).

I was really proud of the way I was able to enjoy myself and not overdo it. I had a great vacation and I met some great people. Oh, and I got a little, itty bit of a tan.

Take Your Tie Off 2009

Around this time last year, I started itching for Spring Break. So me and two of my friends decided to keep alive the tradition of ditching all responsibilities for a week and headed off to Las Vegas. That vacation was great and included one very drunken night at the only Irish pub on the strip that left us hungover for the rest of our time in Sin City, lots of sing-alongs to "Damaged" by the band formerly known as Danity Kane, and one very interesting experience at Cirque du Soleil. 

This year, I don't have the funds (not like that stopped me last year) and it turns out that instead of planning my own Spring Break, my company has done it for me. On Thursday morning, I will depart for Key West for a long weekend of sun, sand, and Kenny Chesney on repeat on my iPod. 

Explanation for this little getaway: each year my company has a sales incentive competition. Last year, the top 10 salespeople won a long weekend away in Puerto Rico. This year, it is a long weekend in Key West, Florida. And since I had a hand in planning the excursion (aka all the flights, all the meals, all the hotel arrangements, the shuttle service, and even the guest's beach activities), I get to tag along. Yes, I am pretty much their travel agent. 

But I am more than over the moon about this trip. Not only is it 80 degrees right now in Key West (and it's about -13 here in Chicago), but I get some free time while I am there as well. The first few days we are there we have dinners and meetings that I have to deal with, but come Sunday I have free time to lounge by the pool, drink strong margaritas, and add some more freckles to my already over-freckled skin. 

And that's not all! My company is allowing me to bring a guest, so Thursday night one of my best friends from college is going to be flying in from New Jersey so we can hang out and maybe convince a few of my colleagues to take their ties off. 

I'm sure this trip will inspire a story or two, so stay posted for an update on my excursion down south on Monday! 

Take Your Top Off (And Get Fired)

A year ago today, WG1, and fifteen (yes, you heard right - fifteen) of my closest girlfriends and I would just be getting back from our college Spring Break trip to Negril, Jamaica. We would all be dragging our feet off the plane, possibly still drunk, and walking from the crystal waters and beautiful beaches of the land of Bob Marley into a blustery snowstorm. I remember being tired, cranky, hungry, hungover (in that order) and completely dreading going back to school and subsequently to homework, to boy drama, to internships and baby-sitting.

And now as I sit at my teeny-tiny cubicle in gloves and a scarf because my office lacks any kind of heat in the winter, I would give my left arm to be just getting off that airplane and skipping and clicking my heels back to school. It's such a difficult change - going from getting the odd Monday off here and there for national holidays, a month for winter break, and three glorious months for summer - to working five days a week, maybe getting off one or two national holidays and having to sit sweating at your desk during the summer. But I think the one break I miss the most has to be Spring Break - a week where you can go and be anyone else in a tropical locale with all your best friends during the cold winter months.

In protest to the ways of the working world, I am going to pretend I'm still in college and participate in Spring Break 2008. On Thursday night I will be taking a plane to Las Vegas, Nevada with my Fabulous Project Manager and our friend Lisa. Vegas, baby! I can't tell you how excited I am. In the city of sin, I will get to gamble away my money, throw away my money, and drink away my money at glamourous night clubs, exotic restaurants, and maybe even the Chapel o' Love (just kidding Dad!).

My working friends all had different reactions - The Boss told me I deserved a nice break off (but I could tell she was peeved she wouldn't have anyone to make sure her office lights were on in the morning, the younger crowd all seemed jealous that I had this glorious idea to save this great tradition, and some of my older friends teased me for being young, naive and immature for wanting to splurge on such a decadent five-day vacation.

While I agree, I might not have the funds to support myself and this trip, I do think I deserve a break. Long hours, overtime, even working weekends - eek, I get tired just thinking about my last two months in my new position at work.

I'm looking forward to some sun to cure my Working Girl woes and I might just take my top off - at the pool, with a bathing suit on - so I can get a tan (or more freckles).