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I really like going to work. Don’t get me wrong; I’d rather be playing golf, getting a massage or watching a ball game, but I have to assume that even a lame ass like myself would eventually get tired of all the relaxation if it became commonplace. Work is sort of like a joy sorbet. It cleanses the palate so we can begin anew with the fun of regular life. Still, every so often I read about someone who has a job that is vastly better than my own. It’s a dream job for virtually everyone on this planet that has any sense at all. What makes it even more frustrating is when these lucky bastards can’t make all this wonderfulness work out.

I’m speaking, of course, of a few hundred warehouse workers and drivers in Copenhagen who went on strike to fight the tyranny of their evil employer, Carlsberg. It reads like one of those classic stories about the violent labor relations from our own country in the early years of the last century. It’s about bloodshed and class. It’s about fairness and exploitation of the workers. It’s about ... actually, I’m joking. It’s mostly about beer and apparently really, really liking to drink it all day.

Yep, these workers in Copenhagen went on strike because the company, Carlsberg Brewery, began enforcing a new rule saying the employees would only be able to drink free beer at lunch and not the entire day as they’d become accustomed. It sounds like some sort of elaborate social experiment. First of all, I’d like to congratulate every person who works there for keeping up the “drunk all damned day” policy for as long as they did. In my own experience, I’ve found the beginning of drinking to mean the end of any sort of working at all.

I was changing apartments once a long time ago, and I offered my buddies who were helping me a beer after the first load was delivered. Needless to say, the second and third loads were essentially all completed by me alone, and the only comfort from the ordeal was an organized drunken heckling each time I began carrying another load up the stairs. Sure, they sort of kept helping, but they would only take what they could carry in one hand, as the other hand was exclusively reserved for holding the ever present can of beer. Granted, the work eventually got done, but I have to say, it was really no way to run a railroad. You’ve really gotta keep that carrot on the stick just out of reach until the work is completed.

Second of all, you lucky, spoiled, protesting bastards. Every person in the U.S. would give his or her left grape for a chance to simply drink free beer over their lunch hour. Fine, chicks don’t have grapes, but you get the idea. Look, I know the workers are like Pavlov’s dog with the all-day beer, happily salivating their way to the assembly line, but enough is probably enough. Yes, the rules were changed on you, but it happens. Apparently your bosses sobered up just long enough to notice that having their entire workforce getting ripped to the tits all day long is not the most efficient way to produce beer. They still allowed you to drink at lunch, and yet, you find this unacceptable. You sadden me. You really do.

I don’t know much about Copenhagen other than that it is named after a brand of chewing tobacco, but I will tell you this; they probably don’t want the word to get out about how work is done over there. We think the U.S. has got a problem with illegal immigration, but can you imagine if the skinny got out about a place where you could drink beer all day and get paid for it? Their borders would be overrun with a bunch of drunken dipshits looking to get their piece of the pie. Sadly, I applied for a work visa in Copenhagen last week and still haven’t heard back. The trouble is probably already brewing in Denmark.

I will admit that I’ve never had even a sip of Carlsberg beer, but how damn bad could it possibly be? In college, I managed to throw back case after case of Rhinelander beer, and that was the nastiest crap that ever touched my lips. Still, it tasted a little like beer and got me sort of drinky. As terrible as it was, I’d still throw back a couple of those if it were in a work environment.

I really wish I could sympathize with the workers in this particular case, but I can’t seem to muster even a tiny bit of sympathy. I was raised to honor a very simple rule. Never drink at work, and never talk about work when you’re drinking. The workers in Copenhagen flew too close to the sun, and now they are paying for it. They blurred the line between work and fun, and their entire lives became an awesome party that could never last. They should look back on those days of joy lovingly, suck it up and start acting like the rest of us. I like beer a whole damn lot, and this strike simply strikes me as offensive. No one should ever be quite that lucky ­— to be able to drink beer all damn day while getting paid. It’s so sad, I’m not even that jealous anymore.