I've had a few horribly busy week at The Institute and, as you can imagine, socialising with the workies has been low indeed on my list of priorities. But alas, last week it was Annual General Meeting time - a 2-day affair, in the name of which hundreds of trees are pulped every year to provide 'The Papers'. Lucky me: I was the one who had to photocopy them approximately 143 times, and then again, and again, because the muppets kept losing them. Still, copying the papers was not the worst job: having to actually read them would have definitely killed me. But I digress.
Every year, on the first evening of AGM Day 1, The Institute holds a reception at a nearby stately home and all staff and trustees are invited. Well, as you might remember from my days at The Company, I have never cared much for corporate 'fun', even when we were shipped to Monaco for the occasion; however this time my level of enthusiasm at the prospect was below zero. The poor workies, however, were buzzing with excitement. They told me epic tales of free drinks flowing like at Nero's household, and of my boss being so drunk that his wife had to stop him from making a speech. Debauchery, decadence, you name it, it was pretty much guaranteed.
You should have seen their faces, then, when they got there and realised that they would be lucky to get just one free drink out of it. As usual, these events suck: not only there was no Champagne, Prosecco or even Cava, but just wine (a drink that just doesn't numb the pain for me) but the food was crap too, the usual soggy mess of quiches and sandwiches and not a single piece of serving cutlery, either, so that people were having to help themselves with their bare hands. We would have had better service at the Institute's canteen.
And then....this is it. There were no embarrassing incidents, no cringy moments, no drunken boss mooning the Chairman. Nothing. Just boredom. When I finally managed to leave, I thought longingly about the days at The Company, when at least I had the guarantee that someone would do something spectacularly stupid, or annoying, or even both.
I missed my morons.
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