"Wanted: A Writer/Editor For A Company Who Can't Spelll"
That's how it all started. A well-worded job advert, one phone call and one interview later and Bob's your uncle; there I was - gainfully employed in a role I knew nothing about! Apprehensive much? You bet! Hell, I can write - and not just at "I went to school and didn't fail English" level either, so I knew I wasn't going to be totally at a loss. The first week went fine; normally I'd have set a security alarm off, crashed a network, spilt coffee over the boss's laptop (in an effort to kiss ass, ironically) or turned up not realising I'd put my underpants over the top of my trousers. So I guess week two was my reward for going the first without getting sacked...
Wednesday, Week 2, and I'm informed that I "wasn't going to be working in the office today". Instead, I was told to pack an overnight bag as I was being taken out to meet a few suppliers to thrash out some fabby new Stag and Hen package deals around the north of Scotland. The hesitation on my face must have been less than subtle, so the proposition was quickly followed with "we'll probably start by hitting a couple of strip clubs...". Sold!
I'll be honest with you - I'd never been to a strip club before. I had a fair idea of what it would be like - I'd just never been to one in person. The guy I was on this 'tour' with was clearly a seasoned veteran of scouting such facilities (purely on business, I'm assured), so I was determined not to let my poker face fail me again as it had done earlier on in the day. Instead, I was going to play it cool, say as little as possible and escape with my dignity intact to fight another day. All the best plans, as they say...
My colleague, who for the sake of anonymity I'll refer to as 'Grant', greeted this Italian looking bloke who came out of the club to show us in. He seemed like a decent guy; almost charming in fact, and from a certain angle a slimmer version of Marlon Brando in 'The Godfather'. But in my determination not to stare at the girls on show, I wasn't about to stare too hard at this chap either. Instead, I tried to take in everything else around me. First thing I noticed about the interior was how dark it was. I mean, I know it's *tits* not exactly supposed to be bright or anything, but I wasn't expecting it to be that dark. Nor was I expecting there to be that many girls inside. There were only *tits* a few guys in, but there were very few places one could look without some barely dressed girl looking seductively in your direction. 'Stay cool, Kenny', I thought. Grant and the Godfather were talking about some packages *tits* for guys coming in and getting dances and private shows from the girls *tits* for Stag parties, and the possibility *tits* of some pole dancing lessons *tits* for Hen do's. Then there was talk *tits* of burlesque lessons and other various *tits* package deals we could do involving entry to nightclubs *tits* but at this point my concentration *tits* was beginning to fail me. They couldn't have much left to talk about by this point, so I was determined to hang in there.
Turning to me, Grant asked "So how long before we can get this stuff on the website?"
"Tits."
....Damn.
The awkward silence that followed was thankfully broken by one of the girls interrupting and asking Marlon Brando's double something about shifts, so we said our goodbyes and moved on. And I was doing so well, too...
From there, we were to go on to a few pubs, clubs and activity centres over the next couple of days. I'll follow this blog up soon with how I got on with the quad bikes - surely I wasn't about to embarass myself any more, right?
-Kenny
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