Tang and vodka
Last night was the company holiday party. Everyone was predictably drunk. What wasn’t predictable was that once we were drunk, two-thirds of us started to glow orange. Now, we hadn’t been drinking Tang and vodka, so that was ruled out. It wasn’t the drinks that were turning us orange. It was something else.
I was one of the orange ones. When the normal colored people realized that all the orange people wanted to talk about was why they were orange, they split off and got another table. I was now at a table with five other oranges (as we liked to call ourselves).
“So guys, this orange thing is pretty wild.”
“Yeah, Lee. No doubt.”
“I’m going to the emergency room,” I said.
“For what?” they asked.
“Well, we’re orange. That’s gotta mean something.”
“Not necessarily,” said the leader of the group, a woman who used to be called Angie, but now preferred to be called Orangina.
Screw them, I thought. I went to the hospital.
Then I woke up. IT WAS ALL A DREAM.*
*I had fallen asleep in the tanning bed again.
