I was all set for a fantastic night, until I saw Whisky Pete, an elfin manager in the company, who'd come by to talk to my boss. I wouldn't say that Pete and I are close--we have a casual, cordial relationship maintained largely by passing one another in the hall every couple of months. "Hello, there, Pete," I might say, and he might bow in a courtly manner and return the sentiment, possibly incorporating some form of manufactured, Irish-sounding greeting.

Anyway, this morning, he passed my desk as he left my boss's office, and after the usual courtly bowing thing, wished me a happy New Year. As I was returning the wish, he added, holding up one finger, "Don't get a DUI!" I paused and nodded, and said I'd sure try not to. Apparently, I didn't sound sincere enough, because he continued. "People don't realize that when they get a DUI, they don't just lose their license, they're terminated!" (Here, I assumed he meant "canned," instead of "killed," but in retrospect, I'm not so sure.)

But why is Pete so consumed with the subject? Let him continue!

"I have to deal with all the DUIs and the licenses, and it's not a lot of fun!" He had my attention, but perhaps I didn't indicate sufficient interest, because he moved from monologue to pretend-dialogue, a narrative style I always find unpleasant but fascinating, like a train wreck.

"People don't know that if they get a DUI, they'll be losin' their job," he said cheerfully, before segueing into an alternate persona, that of the convicted drunk driver, whose voice is an octave higher than Pete's.

"Oh, Pete, can I have six months off to go to jail?"
"No!" he answered himself, "You're terminated!"

The dialogue continued in that vein for a bit, but my eyes glazed over and I didn't retain the actual wording.

So, he finally walked away, with a little wave, and a bounce in his step, and I called to my coworkers, who had been silently reveling in overhearing the entire exchange, "Damn! There go my New Year's plans!"