Wednesday, 20 June 2012

Boxers or Briefs - A Horror Story

I've written several times for this blog and elsewhere about slipping into events with free wine and tasties. I don't often mention the events I attend with my boss because very little happens at these.

After all, I am there to scout out the room before he gets there. I approach a few who I know will want to speak to him or him to them and I try for the life of me to remember something about them to mention when I subtly push my boss in their direction. He doesn't always need someone to guide him around the room and direct to who and what he speaks about but there will always be days when his brain is just too damn busy to do these sort of things himself. It's in those situations when I feel over-dressed for my role as carer.

The two of us were in such an environment recently and my face was starting to hurt from the fake smiling whilst my brain screamed for me to go hard at the wine table. We had been there for approximately 30 minutes when my boss disappeared from the room suddenly. He knows better than to leave without telling me so, dear readers, I just assumed he had headed to the little boys room. Looking back, oh how I wish I had been wrong.

Having circled the room several times, checked the hallway outside and the reception area, I had no where else to look but outside on the street. My first instinct was to panic before I convinced myself that he knew better than to get into a stranger's car and none of the puddles around where deep enough for him to drown in.
Suddenly he was calling me and rather than hiss “Where the f*ck are you?” I forced out a calm and concerned “Are you alright, you had me worried?”

“Come to the mens toilet, right now!” I have a male flatmate so this sentence did nothing but fill me with despair.

“Oh no, why?”

“For God's sake woman!”

“Okay, okay.” I could already see his head poking out if the toilets as I approached. My dear boss looked pale and sweaty. I was detecting the mad vibe from him and not in the Boris 'Jolly' Johnson kind of way.

“I need you to take this and then leave without speaking to anyone here. Don't stop until you find a bin and then get rid of it.”

I pointed at the knotted bin bag in his hand. Deep breath Flick, oh god no, that was a bad idea. “If that's what I think it is... Why can't you leave it in there?”

“And if someone finds it? Felicity, I am not asking!”

“You do not pay me enough for this.”

And that was how I found myself angrily stomping my heels down the street trying to find a bin, and then running away nearly hysterical when the bang landed with a thud.

At my request, the boss promised to never step foot in the restaurant where he'd had lunch that day, and I've taken to carrying around anti-bacterial wet wipes. His way of apology was a bottle of wine and slap on the bum. I'm sure that if I wasn't such Single Sally I wouldn't have giggled as much. Just call me Enemy of the Sisterhood!

Toodles xx

Monday, 11 June 2012

The Toilet Door Opens Both Ways

My parents never left me in a pub toilet before but that doesn't mean I haven't left myself in one. There's nothing worse than going too far and too fast only to find yourself camped out in a cubical, desperate to pass out in peace against the cold toilet tiles. I did this once and when I came to, the club had closed. No word of a lie; the staff had all gone home and the doors were locked. I set the alarm off by going through a firedoor round the back and then had run from the scene as fast as my little feet could take me! Handbag in one hand, shoes in the other.

And remember the story about Gordon Brown trapping himself in a toilet once and needing Tony Blair to rescue him? I had no particular reason for bringing that up, I just like the story.

People are asking if Cameron had been drinking before everyone piled into the vans to go home. Well here's a clue; they were at the pub, of course he was bloody drinking. These things happen and the world as we know it doesn't come crashing down.

It's not like it was this bad -