"Listen, Mister, this is a ladies–" She takes a large hiccupping breath as she opens the door to the stall, " loo. Which paper do you work for? I’m owling your boss." Her words are slurred with incorrect inflections on parts that make no sense, but she thinks she still sounds swotty enough for it to be believable. She’s self-aware enough to know that she gets even more pompous when intoxicated. No need to pretend otherwise now. 