I wasn’t much of a wine drinker back then. But that was all they had. They rummaged in the cellar but not a single bottle of beer was to be found. I survived a couple of hours but finally cracked. I persuaded one of the waiters to drive me down to an off-license.
We were met by two security guard types when we got back. Ah jayzez, have they stolen the crown jewels? This is no laughing matter, sir. A man’s gone missing. One of your party I suspect - a Mr. Sneeze. Fuck off! That’s me. Look, I’m not missing. I’m here. See me. I’ve been here all along. And, okay right, there, pointing down the hill, for a bit.
Pam read me the riot act. All sort of stuff about employee safety being her responsibility on this trip. My conduct would be reported to Dublin. Yackedy, yack, yack. What had I got to say for myself? I don’t suppose I can put the beer on expenses can I? Apparently I was not only irresponsible but I was cheeky too.
Back at the hotel the VP announced he was pulling rank. He threw a few hundred behind the bar. And no one was going to bed until they had sang at least one song and all the money was spent. I sang the first 114 verses of Báidín Fheilimí - as you do. Pam decided she was off the clock, had her first drink of the evening and chilled out a bit. Now was my chance.
Eh, Pam, me auld flower. Yes, Primal - what now? Well you know they way I kind of make a bollix of things? Like nearly loosing the £100 cash? Yes, I heard. And like nearly getting arrested trying to spend it? I heard that too. And like going missing? I noticed. What now? Well I left my feking cheque on the table up at the Castle. Damn it, Primal, you are incorrigible. That’s not good I take it? I suppose it’s lads like me give drink a bad name.
She made some calls. The cheque was found. In a bin. Where else? The bagpiper would be passing the hotel on his way home and drop it off. He duly did and the VP insisted he stay for one. He couldn’t - he had two of the dancers waiting in the car. I was dispatched to fetch them and the tartan octopus.
I don’t know what time we called it a night but Sunday was the Feast of Mother Mary Aching Head. You couldn’t class me as an absolutely brilliant anything. I could just about manage horizontal but vertical was out of the question so I stayed in bed until it was time to go to the airport. I double checked the bin and left.
It being pre 9/11 security was just a formality. Sick as I was I still had the responses off by heart. Did you pack your own bags, sir? Yeash. Has your luggage been out of your sight since then, sir? Noargh. Have you any new or unused electrical equipment? Noargh. Big mistake. The scanner picked up the radio and I got the “could you step in here for a moment, sir, thank you, sir” treatment. It may have been pre 9/11 but in the aftermath of Canary Wharf being Irish was a bit of a disadvantage in the UK.
The absolutely stunning girl was beside me on the plane again. How was the musical? Brilliant! Pity you threw away your ticket. Yeah, I regretted it after. Big time. Twice. So how was your company dinner? Oh, a few glitches but great overall. Do you reckon we’ll be in Dublin before 10? If I miss the last bus from town I’ll have to take a taxi. Well we’re running very late because of that security scare so I doubt it. Some idiot was trying to smuggle electronics. Yeah, I heard. Some people, eh?
I missed the bus. The taxi driver took the last of my sterling - pound for punt - no exchange rate. I’d have preferred to have left it in the bin than give it to the robbing bastard. I bought shares in the company with my cheque. Not long after, the President and the (by then, not so absolutely brilliant) VP were caught fiddling the books and the NASDAQ suspended trading. The shares plummeted the day the ban was lifted and I was left with next to nothing. I might as well have left the cheque in the bin. So much for being an absolutely brilliant employee.
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I’ve always been suspicious of these types of awards. Usually given to Death March survivors and the like - people who do it by the book, on time and in order don’t get the attention. Nothing personal, Primal, and anyway you got a whale of a weekend and valuable lessons and blog raw material out of it.
Bíonn óltach scéalach…
Well that’ll learn you there Primal for being so damn good at what you do! At least you got a free drunken weekend out of it, and apart from the obligatory body search on your return, it sounds like it wasn’t all bollix. Bummer about all the bosses on the fiddle. Sounds like you should ship them out here. They’d fit right in!
Aonghus - What I had done to deserve it was a death march of sorts. No messing! I would have preferred a nice raise and the cheque in the post than the trip though. I hate ceremony of any kind. But I was forced to go - In the 7+ years with the outfit it was the one and only time the GM actually ordered me to do something. Probably because it made his section look good.
White girl - Funny you say that - The last I heard, one of them in running a company in SA and the US have been trying to have him extradited for ages.
Primal you made one BIG mistake…. You should have brought home a tartan octopus.
My face aches and I have run out of tissues! You are a better tonic than any pills. XXX
Sounds like a good time was had by all (including the taxi driver).
I’m glad I waited to read this and give it the attention it deserves.
Just out of curiosity, all by the way and incidental like, do you by any chance have to sew your mittens onto your coat-sleeves?
If you’ll excuse my height of bad blogging manners - tell me, why aren’t your stories in a nice category all by themselves, indexed and linked for our handy benefit? Ey? Ey?
Oh, and by the way, I’m in the fair County of Kildare right now, and probably for the guts of a week.
Grannymar - No way! I imagine Hell, if it exists, to be a supermarket with bagpipe tunes playing over the tannoy 24/7.
FMC - That wanker! I hate them. In fairness though, it’s probably the 99% of taxi drivers give the rest a bad name.
Sam - Not quite with the mittens, but let me put it this way - When I eventually do get Alzheimers, no one will notice.
Eolaí - No apology needed. Why? Well it simply never occurred to me. What would you suggest as a category? “Stories”, “Tales of Woe”, “Crap Happens”? And which posts would qualify? For example, Banking Buddies is long enough ago that I can laugh at it, while Baby Bomb is so recent that it still makes me cringe.
Oh, and yer in the Short Grass now then! Keeping the wheels on the wagon, eh. Coffee/lunch/drink some day?
Absolutely brilliant story! Thanks for easing the pain of the return to the daily grind.
Stories. Or Crapennings. Add them as you’re ready. Emotionally that is.
I can’t believe you used the c-word to me. Drink.
Caro - Did you remember to wave to me when you were passing? I could have sworn I felt a wave but it may have been my bowels acting up.
Eolaí - Crappenings it is then. I’ll work on it during the strong end - the weekend’s too busy. Didn’t you know coffee and lunch are code words for drink?
Ah bless - the demon drink.
Except on a Death March, where Coffee is fuel, to be atoned for at the Employee of the Month bash between Death Marches.
Great story. Love the soap-opera style cliff-hanging, too.
Happy new year Mr Sneeze.
It was less a case of forgetting and more a case of me needing all my concentration to will the contents of my stomach to stay down, where I’d thoughtlessly placed them on a turbulent sea of alcohol. Actually it was probably my bowels you felt…
Did you ever see the stunning girl again?
Flirty - Ah yes. The demon drink: The cause of, and answer to all of life’s problems as Aristotle or someone equally yellow said.
Aonghus - Damn it! I have The Green Fields of France playing in my head now - dead soldiers etc.
Annie - The cliff-hanger bit is just ‘cos I’m scared of doing really long posts - I never read epics (Eolaí’s word) myself and suspect no one else does either.
Caro - I will cling to the thought that I felt your bowels. What sweet dreams I will have tonight.
Medbh - Not in person, but I seen her on telly lots of times. I hadn’t realised I’d met a celeb - I use the word lightly - we all know it doesn’t take much to be a celeb in Ireland.
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By the way everyone, it’s snowing here now. If it keeps up for another 355 days we’ll have a white Christmas.