So in an attempt to pretend that I’m all about the team spirit and all that shit (I have an appraisal next week) I decided to do some workplace bonding (after I looked it up; yeah totally not what I initially thought).
We went out for team ice cream, which in retrospect I should probably have known was a bad plan as I don’t really do well with vast quantities of sugar in the middle of the day. On the plus side, I couldn’t actually sit still long enough to email most of my awesome ideas to everyone in senior management, which was probably just as well as it turns out that flingyourownshitfriday is not all one word.
Anyway, after taking advice from the highest source of workplace etiquette wisdom (reruns of The Office and a couple of American sitcoms) I realised that chatting around the water cooler is the way forward. Armed with an only mildly psychotic grin I sallied forth (I’m not really sure what that is but I think it involves a sort of determined stride/hip shimmy combo which does nothing for my sciatica).
My fine intentions were somewhat stymied on arrival by the sight of a colleague from another department, lying prone beneath the water machine, one upstretched arm clutching frantically at the tap. Turned out he’d been on a curry and beer marathon the night before and was suffering disastrous aftereffects. So much so in fact that he now needed to make a rapid, if somewhat soggy dash to the nearest staff convenience.
Priding myself on a job well done in the social interaction stakes, I headed back to my office only to be interrupted by a blood curdling howl.
Some moments later I encountered my bhuna bothered friend, now more wild eyed and shaken even than before. It would seem that in his vindaloo and vino induced stupor, he hadn’t taken in the announcement about the generator test due to take place. This meant that at the crucial moment of his internal exodus, the power went out plunging him into darkness. He didn’t know whether he’d blacked out or the world had ended.
Now I like to think of myself as a sympathetic soul. It’s not true of course but I like to think it. I defy anyone however, to maintain a kindly yet concerned demeanour when confronted with the image of a hungover, bhaji stained therapist who believes that he has just shat out the apocalypse.
I think I’ll stick to paintballing in future.
On a side note, this incident did get me to thinking that I am woefully underprepared for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. The risk of being caught pants down, either literally or metaphorically can’t be underestimated. Luckily for me, I am now equipped (thanks to a fine and understanding friend) with an instruction manual that will ensure the survival of all that I hold dear in the event of zombie attack. My new mission is to follow this manual and build fortifications, gather stores, drill troops and arm bears (or something like that) despite any opposition from confused hardware salesman, irate neighbours and council planning departments.
Who’s with me?