Riding the Slipstream

I have been invited to attend the company’s year-end party in Cape Town. From what I can gather, it is going to be a fairly large formal affair. I suppose you can afford to go large when you are a young upstart in the industry and have had a very good year. Most big companies do not have big parties more. I love large parties; they can be so… intimate. At small parties there is never any privacy, if you get my drift. Hahaha… not that I intend to get intimate with anyone at the party. It brings back memories of what had happened last year. Last year’s party at my “old” company was also one of those big affairs. Not that the affair in itself was particularly big, but rather the number of people who attended and the amount of free booze on offer. Being new and somewhat strange to the goings-on around the office, the intention was to keep it cool, make the cameo appearance and then leave quietly soon after the big bosses had established that I had been present. Boy, was I wrong. Someone should have warned me that the punch bowl was more potent than I had anticipated. It seems a lot of other people did not know that either. The problem with consuming too much alcohol is that you never know when you had consumed too much until… well… it is too late. By the then the false bravado and party animal that lurks inside of us, had taken on a life of its own. Watch out Mr Hyde, Mr Jackal is in charge and flying the jumbo jet! I am a flirtatious extrovert (SOB?) and social by nature and when I drink, I get even more so. Some people may take my intentions more seriously than intended and therein lays the problem. I usually end up in very sticky situations At 9 o’clock on the night of the party in question, I was doing just that. I was working the party like a seasoned pro... as only the chitster could. The bosses liked me, my co-workers laughed at my jokes and witticisms. I flirted with the office girls and got on well with the guys. , By ten, I decided I had enough and that it was time to make a discreet exit. As I leave, I saw my boss’s young secretary standing all by herself on the balcony. She looked a bit wasted and I walked over to check that she was ok. She’s one of the women I had flirted with earlier, all in good fun, and so when got to her , she mistook my concern for something more. She was all hands and I had a hard time explaining to her that what had happened earlier was mere social interaction. Have you ever noticed how quickly a drunken person’s mood swings from one extreme to the next? Suddenly she was all hurt and offended and I was the biggest rat on the face of the earth. I apologised (for what?) and as I turned to walk away, she planted a drunken kiss on my lips. Bleh! The glass of red wine she had in her hands tipped over and the entire contents spilled down the front of my trousers. Brilliant... now it looked like I had peed on myself! She giggled and let out a drunken “oops”. [I wonder whether that was intentional.] I ran down to the men’s room, and tried to pat down the front of my trousers with a hand towel. There was no way I was driving home with my crotch soaked in alcohol. The alcohol had seeped right though to my underpants and the front was stained bright red. I was alone in the men’s room, so I dropped the trousers and dried down the front of the underpants as much as I could. I must have been a comical sight to behold. Suddenly the door opened and one of the guys from the office walked in. “What happened, he asked?” So as not to spoil the lady’s reputation I pretended that a glass of wine had accidentally fallen over in my lap. “You need any help?” he asked. “No thanks, I think got it covered. I'm actually on my way home…I think I got most of the wine out”, I said. As I closed the front of my trousers, the zipper got caught on my shirt. With a “here let me help you with that”, he moved in closer and next thing I knew, he’s got his hand on my crotch and was helping me with the zipper. Ok, the moment was too gay, even for me, so I backed up against the wall behind me. My situation had just gone from bad to worse. The door to the men's room opened again and in walked another one of my other male colleagues. I don’t now who was more surprised… him or me. For a moment, which seemed like an eternity, we just looked at one another. In the mentime, the other guy still had his hands on my crotch and was tugging at the zipper. “Eh, I think I should leave... you guys need some privacy” “NO!!”… I shouted at him. “It isn’t what it looks like, believe me!” but he was already out the door. I managed to get myself out of the men's room, but by then he had gone back the party. Damn! I could only imagine what he must be telling the rest of the guys. I hurried down the stairs, got into to my car and drove home. Fuck this… when one puts the incident in the bathroom and the incident on the balcony together, things did not look good for me. Monday at the office was rather uncomfortable and it felt as if everybody eyed me with suspicion. I went to my colleague’s offices and did my best to set things straight with him. I ended up end up telling him what exactly had happened. After a while a smile appeared on his face and he packed out laughing. Phew! He told me that he prolly would have thought nothing of it, except for the fact that the guy who helped me in the men’s room was gay and known for coming on to the office guys. Seeing the two of us in a compromising situation kind of made it hard not to jump to the obvious conclusion. Luckily, for me he had not told anybody, yet, but he admitted that he was tempted to do so at the party. He thought that perhaps the naked look of fear in my eyes may have had something to do with that. [I am so practising that look for the next time I might need it] A narrow escape indeed, although not quite unlike the usual plethora of strange things that normally happen to me. Oh, and the next time something spills down the front of my trousers, it may be a wise move to go into a stall and drop my trousers behind a locked door, don’t you think?