The following is a mostly true story about a phone call I got when I was working at a place that shall remain nameless.
With the exception of the zombie dust bit…and the fact that I don’t want to use all the paper necessary to convey just how long she yelled at me over the phone…this is pretty much entirely accurate. Putting the drunk guy in the cab and sending him home–and paying for it–is generally considered the right thing to do. Sigh. Imagine my surprise.