Like so many others, I had a job that brought me to exotic places I would have never gotten to experience on my own. One such place was beautiful Atlantic City— A place that I can only describe as breathtaking. So breathtaking you can see the cancer high-fiving the nicotine as you walk through the casino.
After two full days of setting up a trade show, two more days of working at said trade show, having dinner every night with my coworkers and sharing a room with one of my coworkers, it was finally time to relax with, you guessed it, my coworkers— Oh the joys of having a cheap-ass boss who won’t pay for shit unless you are with company kin.
Ready to get our drink on and hopeful to talk about ANYTHING other than work, we high-tailed our way to a Western themed bar. As we bellied up, it became excruciatingly obvious that we may need to gouge out our eyes with dull, rusty spoons to be spared from the dreaded water cooler conversations. Suddenly a number of officers moseyed into the corral from a nearby conference.
Excited to talk to literally ANYONE else, one coworker started a conversation with a tiny leprechaun of a man and his comparatively giant friend. Assuming I was also in desperate need of a change in conversation, she lassoed me in. So, there we sat— her, me, Lucky and the BFG.
After about 15 minutes my coworker and Paddy McDancyfeet bolted from the conversation like racoons chasing a shiny object, leaving me and Andre The Giant in the awkwardness. He offered to buy me a drink, I declined as I already had a full one.
We continued the painful conversation as I sat there fantasizing about the sales strategy and labor relation conversations of yesteryear. He went on and on and on about himself only stopping when he noticed my coworkers were laughing. Colossal cop was convinced the laughing was at his expense and decided to inform them, “I make more money than all you MOTHER FUCKERS combined!”
NOW my coworkers were laughing at his expense.
Officer Behemoth returned his attention to me and offered another drink—I’m thinking “What’s with the drinks, is this guy T-Pain?! Why does this fucker keep offering me drinks?” I tried to end the conversation. This guy couldn’t take hints for shit and me being Midwest nice, I couldn’t just tell him to “fuck off”.
Yet another offer to buy me a drink had me thinking, “Yeah right dude, I don’t want a ketamine cocktail.”
Now I had really had enough of this enormous prick and he offered me a drink one more time... I loudly ask, “WHAT’S WITH THE DRINKS MAN?! What’s your end game?”
No response as he sat there like he was pleading the fifth.
I continued, “I have a roommate; you have a roommate and I’m not into fucking in public bathrooms!”
I guess it was too much for Detective Date Rape because he just stared at me, finished his drink and walked away as I sang “Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna’ do…”
I always knew I had a way with men.
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