Midnight Toker?

I have a bit of a rep at work. They think of me as a good-time girl who rolls in on Monday morning hungover from a crazy weekend of debauchery; the girl who will go to a gig, lose her ‘phone and not give a shit; I’m also known for my shoes (my colleagues think any heel higher than 2 inches  is ‘daring’).

Another brush I’ve been tarred with is that of the recreational drug-user. I’ve never openly spoken about drugs with any of my colleagues and yet they’re all convinced I enjoy a doobie, and maybe other bits and bobs, of a weekend.

The other day, Dr Old-School and KKK were having a playful conversation about her need to search his desk drawers.

DR OLD-SCHOOL: Be careful, you might find the heroin.

KKK: actually, it was a spliff I was looking for. (To me) Is that the right word?

ME: How would I know?

DR OLD-SCHOOL: (in sarcastic tones) Yes, you wouldn’t have a clue about that kind of thing, would you? (winks)

I quite like this rep I’ve inadvertently built up. To my crumbly colleagues, an occasional toke is the height of cool and glamour so I refuse to confirm or deny the rumour.

They don’t need to know that I haven’t had a smoke for a good 10 years, do they?

This entry was posted in Just a Little Bit About Me, The Curse of the Drinking Classes. Bookmark the permalink.

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