Skip Work. Get Drunk. On A Weekday Afternoon. Why Not?

What is beer?

To some of us, it is an after-work treat; a cold beverage best enjoyed with friends to take the edge off.

To others, it is the elixir of life—fuel to dull our senses and lift our spirits.

And then there are those of us for whom beer is a portal to another dimension, transforming us so completely and irrevocably it’s as though we are reborn every time we drink, leaving our old selves behind just long enough to remember that authenticity is overrated.

For regular Singaporeans, alcohol is also a luxury. It is an indulgence you order in pints, savour in air-conditioned comfort, and pay for with hard-earned credit. On rare occasions, we find ourselves by the road or in deserted locales, chugging straight from the can, partaking in a boozy, lubricated adaptation of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Consuming alcohol this way remains a novelty, often coming in times of desperate necessity. It is also the stuff of nostalgic reminiscing and the I-can’t-believe-we-did-that days of our youth.

So what happens when you take an afternoon off work, say “Fuck it,” and try to live like you were 18 again?

What happens is simple: You remember.

You remember that there are only 24 hours in a day. That humans, in 2018, live an average of 80 years—and some of us all already nearly halfway there.

You remember that work that doesn’t get done today gets done tomorrow. That the world does not end when you sip beer from a straw to the tune of passersby clicking their tongues in obvious, brazen judgment.

You remember that however old you are, you can do whatever the hell you want.

You remember that yes, of course there will always be consequences. But also that of course, you can live with those consequences.

Here’s the thing about breaking the rules, though.

It’s only fun when you don’t do it all the time; when you’ve spent enough time being knocked around by the system, chained to your desk, and building up someone else’s dream, that it feels the way it should when you finally say, “You know what, maybe I don’t need to do this.”

And for once, the part of your brain that usually says, “But maybe I do,” is silent. It does not protest, does not drag you back down into reality, does not remind you that you are just a cog in the wheel, not a human being.