The absolutely brilliant employee - part 2

I actually did go sightseeing that morning. Well I stood on Princes Street and looked up at the Castle for a minute or two. That’s nice. Now where’s that bar near the bookies? The girl on the plane was spot on with her suggestion. A big shiny Guinness sign in the window and a bookies right next door. Every customer was reading the racing pages. Dockets and pens set out along the counter. This was home from home. And better still, I had two crisp £50 notes to play with - my musical money.

The problem was the barman wouldn’t take them. He said they looked dodgy. Fifties obviously weren’t often seen in this pub. Where did I get them? I rescued them from a cleaning lady’s trolley. [Digging] No, I mean, they’re legit. I put them there myself. Sort of. [Deeper] Look, they were a gift from my job because they couldn’t get me a ticket to see some crap musical. [Throw me down a ladder] I should have just lied and said the bank gave them to me.

I tried the bookies. Hey, you’re the Irish bloke who was trying to offload fake notes next door. He reached for the phone. I assumed he was calling the cops and I legged it out the door.

Another bar laundered them without a whimper and I managed to back a few winners. Even with the few pints I had more in my pocket when I got back to the hotel than I went out with. This was going great.

The plan was that we’d all meet up in the hotel (in our business-casual attire though I still didn’t know what that meant), for drinks, then a coach would take us up to the Castle. The woman in the lift asked if I was Mr. Sneeze. Primal, yes, and you are? Pam Wolcott (Head of Human Resources, Europe) - I just knew one of you Irish would be first down to a free bar.

Well that stung big time. She was probably right, but it stung anyway. I bit my tongue.

The rest of the party arrived shortly after. I needn’t have worried about the dress code - the guy from Vienna wore a yellow jacket, green tie and red pants. The two from Rome must have shopped at the same circus-surplus store. I was positively normal.

I brought a tray of drinks back to our table but left a mineral water on the counter. The Irish weren’t the only ones taking advantage of the free bar and the queue was three deep. Eh, Pam, could you pass me out that Evian there like a good woman. She squeezed past one, under the arm of another, hitched up her skirt, knelled on a chair, leaned over a table and handed it to me. Well done. Obvious it’s not the first time you passed water in a crowded room.

Why they hired a coach is beyond me. It took longer to get on it and off it than the journey. The Castle entrance was just around the corner. We had to walk for miles after that. Uphill and over cobbles. I learned the phrase why the fek did I wear high heels in seven languages that night.

It was worth the pain though. The craic was mighty. A bagpiper led us into the hall. Later he was to recite/roar the Address to a Haggis and proceed to rip it to shreds with his scian. I began to wonder if Robert Burns actually hated the stuff. Maybe it was just our bagpiper. Hauling around a screeching octopus in a tartan knickers all day would put anyone in bad form.

The big fat cheques were presented by the Belfast born VP of Europe and the Middle East. Then band came on. The dancers in their innocence asked for volunteers. Four Paddys full of drink and high on trad, with four pretty girls in the same room is simply dangerous. Before the circus-clad crowd could get their jackets off we three absolutely brilliant employees from Ireland and the absolutely brilliant VP (he gave us the cheques remember) were swinging the girls around the floor ignoring their pleas for mercy. But it encouraged the others to loosen up and by the end of the night we had the whole Continental Céilí thing going on. Luckily no one was injured. Much.

Then there was the search party. Had he gotten lost looking for the loo? Had he slipped down some stairs and was lying in agony? Could he fallen over the wall to his death? I hadn’t done any of those things.