About two months ago, the company that I work for threw a BBQ party. They provided transportation, food, music and seven hours of open bar. Yes, seven hours; no exaggeration.
The location was great. The weather was perfect. The food was delicious. The bartender was very generous.
We got to New York City around 4:00pm. Things got hazy around 6:30pm. I took the last bus at 11:00pm. This BBQ haunts me till this day.
Our company likes to throw these parties during the weekdays and expects their employees to come to work the next day. Mean. The next day, there were bombs exploding in my head.
I knew I blacked out. (For those who do not know, blacked out: when you are able to continuously drink and act wasted, but will have no recollection of your actions the next day.) The worst is when people come up to you and tell you what you did the night before. There are some who just want to say it for their entertainment. I hate them. If I wanted to know what I did the night before I would ask. Technically, if I don’t remember, it never happened. I live by that since the beginning of time.
My company is large yet gossip circulates, so I knew that I was screwed. My company also employs people of all ages (aka old folks). At the time, I worked with one of my best friends, Jenny. We are also very close to many of our co-workers, and you can bring a plus one. Jenny brought Camille and I brought Gabriella. We are all big party girls. How did we not see this coming?
It started out very nice. One, two, three drinks in, getting a bit looser. Meeting co-workers’ significant others, meeting friends of friends. It was a very pleasant time.
Four, five, and six were working to my benefit. I think what killed us were the five thousand shots we took. I don’t know why we thought it was necessary to take shots. Clearly I didn’t question it then, so I am not questioning it now.
The following day is when I found out about our adventures at the BBQ:
Jenny: The whole time we were there, she was outside dancing in front of the DJ booth. Nothing is wrong with that. We love to dance. She was wearing this very appropriate tube top summer dress with a jean jacket. The jean jacket came off due to the intense dance moves.
Our friend, Jeff, attended as well. He was on the same boat as Jenny when it came to dancing. I, on the other hand, had no idea there was dancing, and I love to dance. I go out just to dance. I am bit jealous of their dance off’s they had.
Our boss said Jenny and Jeff were dancing from the beginning to the end of the BBQ. I don’t doubt that. As the drinks kept pouring, Jenny’s true dance moves were emerging. Oh how her moves are GREAT!
It was time to leave and the last bus was ready to go back to Jersey. Jenny took it upon herself to walk to the bus. While stumblin’ and mumblin’, she fell into a bush. I guess I left out the fact the area was like a park. The bush wasn’t out of the norm. Finding a bush with legs flailing out of it was. Jenny is an avatar. She is about 5’9 with legs that never stop. (I say that because I am 5’3 and I look like a midget next to her.) I suppose Jeff was walking back to the bus and found these legs. While trying to help, he fell in as well. Now there are body parts coming out of these bushes from every direction.
Camille was the one who found them in the bushes. She was the least wasted out of all of us. That says alot. She assisted them to the bus, which was about five feet from where they fell in. GOL.
If only it was that perfect!
Yours Truly: Have I ever mentioned I get butt quivers for men with British accents? (Butt quivers: a silly terminology that is used when you are attracted to someone. Ex: “Whoa, I had to hold on to the wall from your butt quivers for that guy. It was 8.8 on the Richter scale.” BAHA.)That being said, there is an older gentleman that works with the company. I was instantly infatuated with him when I heard him ask a question at the weekly lab meeting.
I have only spoke to him once before the BBQ. It was at the holiday party where I was smashed and planned a wine night (as friends with his wife). I like to call him my “Silver Fox” (all white hair). Even after that party, I avoided him because I was not sure what I said to he and his wife. Obviously, being embarrassing.
What I find out about the BBQ is that I was holding his hands by the end of the night. HOW EMBARRASSING!?!?!? What could I have possibly said that would make me want to hold his hands? His wife was standing right there! My plus one, Gabriella, was too busy talking my bosses’ ears off about her love life that she wasn’t in the zone to save me from my misery. What’s worse is that he gave that look to Camille like “she needs to go”. UGH! I was mortified about my actions that I was face-palming all next day. (Face palm: when you smack your forehead to lighten up the cringe-worthy feeling.)
I haven’t seen my Silver Fox since the BBQ. Today, I was forced to see him because I went to lab meeting to support one of my co-workers. I tried to avoid him at all cost. To my surprise, as I was leaving he was walking right next to me. I did not know until I watched him walk the other direction than me. I was also preoccupied chasing down an employee to ask them something. I must have looked like a rude FOOL. Like I said before, if I don’t remember, it never happened. Thus, I act like nothing happened.
Advice: DO NOT have open bar for seven hours and expect embarrassing things not to occur because I am victim of this heinous crime.
This is for my friends…
2 Comments Add yours
I hate you for that last part. Now it will be stuck only head all weekend long.
love your writing. sounds just like you. keep it up, and keep giving hilarious advice at the ends