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Show Us Your Sad Excuse For a Desk

Illustration for article titled Show Us Your Sad Excuse For a Desk
Image: Matt Cardy (Getty Images)

I’ll keep it short and sweet: if you’re social distancing (and you should be), you’re probably spending a lot of time at home. That home may include a desk. Maybe you work at said desk for hours on end. Perhaps it’s just become a place to stack your empty coffee mugs as you lie in bed, awaiting the sweet release of death. Whatever your reality is, we want to see it. Show us your sad excuse for a desk!

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For inspiration, below is Jezebel’s own Megan Reynolds’s desk. I’d include my own desk except... I don’t have one, which is arguably the saddest desk of all.

Illustration for article titled Show Us Your Sad Excuse For a Desk
Image: Megan Reynolds
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Before all that, it’s time to read through last week’s winners. Here are your messiest 4th of July stories.

VtDkDude, yikes:

I got close to black out (if only) hammered while staying at my family’s lake house by like 6 p.m. I ended up offering beer to some 13 year old sister of a family friend (she declined). Then I was smoking on a row boat, decided to stand up, fell in the water and lost my favorite sunglasses. I was literally sent to bed after that.

I woke up the next morning to my parents telling me my dog had run away during the fireworks. This leads to me and my dad hunting through the woods/swamps/camps yelling for my dog. It had rained slightly the night before and the woods were full of snakes. I ended up puking at some point. Didn’t find the dog and had to face my family and “explain my actions the previous day”. I went back to my home as soon as the puking stopped.

Dog turned up four days later. My dignity never was fully found. I was 31.

The High Woman In The Castle, this sounds like a disaster:

Let me start off by saying my ex is a moron.

He invites me to his parent’s lake house for the 4th. This was my second time meeting them and my first time there. That’s all the information I had so I packed clothes for the weekend.

Turns out they had a boat, waterskis, jet skis, etc. I had never seen this lake let alone knew people went swimming in it. Ex never told me to bring a swimsuit so I didn’t have one. “Oh oops. I’ve never brought someone home so I didn’t think about it.” Okay then but he brought one. I had to watch everyone do all the water stuff because the closest Target was an hour away. No big, right?

I thought this was going to be the four of us. Again Ex left out vital information. This was an entire family reunion. At least 30 people were there so we got stuck on the pullout. Okay that’s fine. I wasn’t prepared to not have a room to ourselves. I was awakened frequently, and we never had privacy.

But the worst part is Ex didn’t introduce me to anyone. It was bad enough that I wasn’t expecting to meet a small village, but he completely forgot I was here. I had to awkwardly introduce myself. They clearly had no idea who I was either. I kept getting the up and down look like a party crasher. (Fun fact: my husband and in-laws also do not introduce me to people. Is this not a common trait?) To this day, I don’t think Ex told anyone I was coming.

The whole time these 30 people talked about events, places, people, and inside jokes. I had to sit there and smile awkwardly while Ex was deeply engaged in reminiscing with a cousin who asked me my name at least three times. I clearly didn’t belong there.

When we went to say goodbye, they all said goodbye to Ex. I was completely invisible. Also none of them knew my name so while I had to answer to “hey you,” you can’t use that as a goodbye.

The weekend ended with serious food poisoning. My shit was literally black.

Aside from that, Ex had no idea that anything was wrong. I had to explain to him how I felt very slowly and clearly. He really didn’t understand why I didn’t have a good time. Probably still doesn’t today!

Mr Potatolife, this is extremely messy:

I was departing my life as a bar rat in Pittsburgh to try to start over in a volunteer program in the deep south. In previous years, the neighbors and us had thrown very large parties with many people and beverages and drugs and speaker systems. This time around, I just told my friends this: I have purchased a 30-pack of Miller High Life. I will be drinking the entire thing on my porch, starting at 10am until I finish it, and in two weeks I will be gone for good. You may come visit me during this personal celebration, you may bring grills and alcohol. I will be here.

By about 3PM I was more than a third of the way into the task, declaring the number of the beer with each can crack, though I allegedly had stalled out and declared “#13!” for at least three straight. Faces appeared, faces disappeared, as did beers. Each can tab was removed and placed in my pocket for posterity.

Around 10PM I was in my bed, facedown, pitch black room with a pounding headache. My name was being screamed from the street. I ended up in a car, and then at a bonfire with strangers in a very expensive house well outside of the city. I was briefly inside the house but then not allowed back in after the strangers mistook my playfighting with the friend who brought me as real fighting, and there were some antique swords or some shit that were put at risk by my reanimated corpse’s enthusiasm. The bonfire outside had been wandered-off from. I found a bag containing some warm Bell’s Oberons.

At 4AM I was standing on a chair outside my own house slitting windowscreens with a stolen Buck knife.

The next day I awoke to repeated calls from an unknown number. A woman who had offered to buy my television on Craigslist was outside. I greeted her on my porch. There was a plastic vegetable bag tied shut and full of corn cobs and large black flies, just hammering at the walls of it. Sounded like a lawnmower. I did not acknowledge this. Neither did she.

I remembered we’d haggled over the TV price,because I had gotten a better offer, but relented and agreed to sell it to her. My shirtless neighbor, with a colossal Mongolian symbol tattooed on his back (he’s Mongolian) helped me move the TV down the stairs and into her car. Once inside, I turned to the woman and said “Honestly, you can have it for free.”

“No,” she said, “I’m paying you what I said I would, because I, unlike you, am a woman of my word.” She handed me $60. She drove away.

I tried to jam the $60 into my pocket, but when I reached in, I realized it was full of metal. 28 Miller High Life can tabs, a Sierra Nevada bottle cap, and seven Bell’s bottle caps.

I went inside and slept again until July 6th.

Gothamite88, I’m going to need a few more details:

Well back in 96 or 97 I got lost in the WB Store at Queens Center and then later that night accidentally sprayed my sister and myself in the eye with mace.

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Drop those desks below.

Senior Writer, Jezebel. My debut book, LARGER THAN LIFE: A History of Boy Bands, is out now.

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beefjerkyinaballgown
RIP Lil' Sebastian

I was suffering from post-partum depression at the beginning of the quarantine and one of the things that was hugely therapeutic was creating my own personal work space that was private from the baby and my husband in the nook in my closet. I repainted the walls twice to get the right gray, and bought a selfie light for Zoom calls so even though I felt like a lump, I was a well-lit lump.

I’m ridiculously proud of it, and it makes me happy every time I walk in.