God knows how I managed to allow these gems to slip from my subconscious for so many years, but I've just recalled two more utterly humiliating events. Lovely:
1 ~ I was sat at my desk at an inept examinations board in central London. It was a grey, average morning on a grey, average weekday, circa 2003. The job I did sucked, because I was then employed in Marketing – a.k.a. Basically Just Flogging Stuff, No Matter How Much It’s Dressed Up, where I would do whatever it took to avoid work in a slightly less nobler version of Oskar Schindler refusing to manufacture a single working bomb. In essence, my days were filled with emailing friends, then drinking heavily in the evenings.
That particular morning, I’d emailed Gay Rog to see how he was while another colleague, Monkey Dave, appeared at my desk to do likewise and go ‘ook’.
It was in this fug of dual greeting that I got confused. Monkey Dave began telling me about his evening the night before, something about foraging for berries or grooming his mate, when Rog replied. He wrote that he was “Super, thanks for asking”, which (obviously) put me in mind of the Big Gay Al song from the South Park movie.
‘Then there’s my reply,' I thought. ‘I'll copy and paste the full lyrics. Max response, zero effort.’
So while Dave rambled on and the ennui of being employed at a dump continued unabated, I unthinkingly typed ‘BIG’ and ‘GAY’ and ‘AL’, and clicked the first link that appeared. At work.
So imagine my surprise - and Dave's - when a big, fat cock filled my monitor.
‘Aargh!’ I screamed quietly, clicking on the little close-window button, a button that merely provoked more angry-cocked windows into appearing.
- Big bald man with large flaccid dick between his legs.
‘Erk!’ Close window, close window!
- Man with moustache tugging a gentleman in leather chaps by his arm... no, that's not an arm. Close window immediately.
- Large man fucking another man up the arse.
I stood up to yell, trying to block the monitor with my body as closing the fucking windows wasn’t having any effect. This made Monkey Dave very amused as he clapped and swung from the hatstand, so I switched off my monitor and walked up to IT, where I specifically asked for the head of department.
With a straight-face, I told him that I'd accidentally made hardcore gay pornography come onto my computer.
Regrettably, I wasn't sacked.
2 ~ Several years earlier. Let's call it 1999, because it was. I was in the bar at my television job, drinking with a colleague and a friend of his, a cute, sexy friend who I remember thinking looked a bit like Cat Deeley.
And God knows how but we ended up snogging at some point. And don't ask me what I’d said to get there, but somehow we ended up in a cab with her flatmate, and her flatmate's boyfriend.
Suddenly we're at their house, and things were going spectacularly well, although whatever was coming was pushed back for a more important glass of water and a girlie chat in her flatmate's bedroom - Not that I was a part of that. I was upstairs, lying alone on her bed with an erection and a tremendous amount of unspent energy.
So I waited.
And I waited.
Until I pondered how it was possible that I could go out one night, meet a girl, snog that girl, then be invited back to hers whereupon said girl would then vanish.
Something had to happen though; surely my presence in her bedroom was guarantee of that? But where was she? In fact, I began to wonder, wasn’t this all a little…rude? So I stumbled downstairs to where everyone was gathered, and bellowed, ‘Are you coming up, or what?’
I didn't have sex that night. In fact, I didn’t have sex with her at all. By the time she eventually appeared in her jimjams, I failed to entice her out of them so I passed out and started snoring instead. The next thing I remember was being woken up by her alarm clock; it was playing Madness, ‘It must be love’.
And so I went to work, while she feigned illness, and I never saw her again.
Even I think she probably did the right thing.