Friday morning Boobs snapped at me about something, as usual. But after my little verbal fisticuffs with NFEditor earlier in the week, I just kept my mouth shut. But keeping my mouth shut doesn’t mean that I wasn’t really annoyed all the same, and it must have been evident on my face.
Goatee came into the office late in the morning, and I guess he could tell I was upset. He asked what was wrong, and I gave the ‘Nothing, nothing’ response.
At lunch, he and Intern2 came up to my desk, and Goatee informed me that Intern2 was going to take over my receptionist duties for the day, and I would be accompanying Goatee on bookstore runs.
We got outside, and that’s when he informed me of the truth. Instead of going to see bookstores to talk about Christmas stock, we were going on a Publishing lunch –1990s style.
‘Back in the day’ (as the saying goes) publishers spent entire days in restaurants wining and dining authors, making deals with agents, and vying for the attention of booksellers. The lunches were expensive, they included champagne, wine and whiskey, and they were put on account.
Goatee said that he’d noticed how much flack I’d been getting from Boobs and NFEditor. He also said that I’d been doing quality work, and that I’ve already proved to be a credit to MNM. So, he was taking me out for a treat, and MNM would pay for it – and it would be our little secret. Heck, I’m the person who processes the expenses, so…I think the paperwork might just go through.
I was over the moon. Not simply because I was doing a work bunk, or that I about to get a lovely free lunch, or that the lunch was at MNM’s expense. But I was also over the moon because all the hard work I’ve been putting in was finally getting noticed. Now, I know that a person shouldn’t do a job just for the recognition. I know that a job well done should be recognition in itself. But when you put in so much hard work and lots of extra hours, a little acknowledgement really makes life just a bit better.
We went to Hotel du Vin Glasgow at One Devonshire Gardens in the West End, and the first thing Goatee ordered was a bottle of Pol Roger. When that bottle went empty, we had a bottle of red to go with a fabulous lunch, and then moved on to after dinner (lunch) drinks with dessert. Goatee’s family has a chateau in Bordeaux, which is where he learned about wine. So while I wanted to sling back the glass, he made sure I savoured it. He ordered drinks that complemented the meal. To be honest, fine dining usually makes me kind of nervous, but Goatee made this all fun. I wasn’t nervous about what to eat, or how to eat it. It was all casual. And the chat about wine and food, it wasn’t like he was giving me a lesson. We were just chatting about something he enjoyed.
After lunch (by this time it had to be past 3pm) we moved into the bar, and we started sampling single malt whiskies. I’ve never liked whiskies, and I always thought they were kind of old man-ish. But just like the wine and the food, Goatee made it fun. We continued to chat, and I told him all about myself (which isn’t much to tell), and he told me all about his life. He’s a really fascinating guy, who’s been everywhere in the world, and he’s even got a Doctorate degree.
We were in the bar for a couple of hours, and he suggested that we get a bit more food in us before continuing on. We went to a kebab shop, and he said that he hadn’t had a kebab in years. That it was good ‘to be in the company of a younger person,’ because he ‘could eat all those good foods that grown-ups look down on’.
I had chips and cheese, and this did clear my head a little. We went on to this pub, where loads of people were piling in after work. We started on the pints and this is where I started to get a bit sloppy.
I was banging on about TheBoy, and just about every other person I’d ever even kissed. I got all soppy about living in Glasgow and not having any friends, and I started thanking him for ‘understanding’.
Then things kind of start getting fuzzy. We must have gone to another bar because I remember a jazz quartet, but not much else. Oh, well, there is something else I definitely remember.
Goatee took me home in a taxi, and as he half carried me to the front door of my building I threw up. Yup, I vomited; I didn’t just vomit right in front of my lovely boss who understands me and listens when I babble. But I vomited ON my lovely boss. Right down the front of his shirt. Then I turned and started throwing up on the pavement. He could have, well he should have, run, but instead he just held my hair back and waited for me to finish heaving. Then he walked me up to the flat, and fixed me a cup of tea while I washed up.
After drunkenly apologizing profusely, I went to bed.
On Saturday, Marathon told me that she had come home by this point, and he told her to make sure I was put in the ‘recovery position’. She thought he was being a pervy old man, and that the ‘recovery position’ was some sort of karma sutra thing. So she kicked him out of the flat.
I am so scared to go to work tomorrow. I can only hope that Goatee has meetings…for the rest of the year. OMG, I am so embarrassed!