It's only when the lift takes too long to arrive that he realizes he's still drunk from the night before, and the night before. Like a child inexplicably tasked with driving a J.C.B. down a motorway: his eyes widen, he sways, his limbs suddenly very keen to appear to be doing something physical.
As the canned applause in his head dies down and the lift finally arrives, the cleaning team emerge and in his eagerness to escape the lobby he jostles a bucket from their equipment trolley, spilling purplish bleach and water down the front of his vast corduroy slacks.