That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

It’s party time.

Yesterday was lost to work again. Why oh why do my employers assume that I’m at their beck and call?
A small company soiree to attend tomorrow. That means wearing a suit and not getting drunk. I can do either but I’ve never managed both at the same time.
Last year, at a similar thing (drinks and finger buffet for 40) we ended up taking these two Swedes out for dinner.
That is, the technical director (designate), Dickless the finance director, and me. The two innocent Swedes were machine tool experts.
Regrettably, I was pissed before we left the office, and was lying like a bastard, claiming to have studied at Uppsala and done six months particle research at CERN. I don’t know why either but there it is.
Anyway, we were all having a drink it was a Wednesday, but it must have been a harder week than we thought, because we were guzzling it down three to every one of theirs. By half six we were rollicking, arguing, Mr Fuck and Mr Cunt were putting in the odd appearance and the two sober Swedes were totally ignored.
They saw which way the wind was blowing.
They said, “Look thanks, but we’re flying off early tomorrow so maybe we’ll call it a night.”
Finance director: “No no no fucking way, you’ll have a drink and some dinner before you go. Fucking Hell. Scottish hospitality”
Then, out of the blue, but in all seriousness, the technical director (designate) made an announcement to the table;
Technical director (designate): “Listen, Sven’s gay, maybe he wants to check out the scene or something.”
Sven: “I’m not gay, what makes you think I’m gay?”
Technical director (designate): “Aren’t you? Look it’s alright if you are”
Sven: “well I’m not, I’m married” Shows wedding ring.
Technical director (designate): “Any kids?”
Sven: “Nobut….."
Technical director (designate): “Look it’s alright if you are”

Escaping to the bar, I was joined by Sven, puzzled to the point of tears,
Sven: “Why does he think I’m gay? Look, I’m married.” (Shows wedding ring again)
Me: “Ignore him, he’s drunk. I‘m sorry.”
Sven: “Were you treated like this at Uppsala?”
Me: “What?”
Sven: “When you were studying there?”
Finance director: “When were you at Uppsala?”
Me: “In my ICI days.”
Finance director: “You never said.”
Me: “Never mind that, get back to the table and stop any more fucking damage.”
The Swedes left without glassing the technical director (designate) but they thought about it. He IS a hardy big bastard.
“He wasn’t gay you know. And what would it matter if he was?”
“Course he fucking was. Drink up and I’ll see what the special is.”