A Thief, a whore and a liar.
There's something to be said about an all expenses paid work conference. And that something is; they corrupt.
It should have been apparent to me as my boss and I cruised the inconceivably boring Brand Hwy in Western Australia that the excursion would be bleak. Picture 400km of (with the exception of 13 places) bolt straight road. "What only 400km?" I hear you say, "Harden up cupcake, out here we travel *insert distance greater than 400km* with no bends, scenery and only 4 colour CGA resolution."
The difference is, your road doesn't end in Geraldton.
Geraldton, a place that even the wind hauls ass through on it's was somewhere more exciting.
On the way up we discuss the 7 known murders and 6 missing persons cases along the route. We wonder how many other bodies are waiting out there. Victim of some highway wandering Rutger Hauer/Sean Bean or possibly people who died of boredom. Though, the nature of the road means that even if you did die behind the wheel, you would crash into anything until 220km up the road when you hit Dongara.
Dongara's claim to fame: We're on the way back from Geraldton.
There is a good pub there owned by a bloke we've worked with, so we hit him up for a few drinks and skip out when he mumbles something about sorting out payment.
Rolling into Geraldton we head straight to the hotel for check-in and suss out the bar. Good view, good access, but appalling refill times. Planning would be essential. Part of this plan consisted of finding out our colleagues' room numbers to bill our drinks to. Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. Or Prior Planning Prevents Poor Pissup Performance in our case. I inadvertantly give the barmaid the wrong room number, 212 instead of my 214 so some unwitting schlub wound up with a hefty bar tab. By the time I had realised my error, I realised I was in too deep. I continued the lie figuring that after a few irate hours with hotel management, Mr & Mrs 212 would walk away with the bartab (mine and theirs) totally comp.
First night's dinner went well. I got quietly trashed with our contracts manager at the end of the table. I confess that I have no idea why I'm attending this conference as I'm not actually involved in any part of the fourteen page agenda. My copy has ninja stickmen on it already. Mike agrees without discussion or comment. My feelings are slightly hurt. I drown them in another company sponsored JD&Coke.
Get back to the hotel. Go for a nightcap in the bar. Cap turns into a a stetson hat. I am informed by the slightly lazy eyed barmaid that they're stopping service soon. I strike up a cheesey and embarrasingly flirty conversation hoping to extend the bar's trading hours. It works, but I have to make more physical contact than I am pleased about. It is around the time that another hotel patron and myself discuss the finer points of the aerodynamics and airspeed capabilities of Jatz crackers. Preliminary tests don't go well. We are ushered out by the manageress whilst the barmaid applies ice water to her good, swollen, buscuit crumb enrcrusted eye. I make a mental note to skip breakfast.
I make it back to my room without incident. That is until I have to use the swipecard lock on the door. VISA is accepted at over 24 million locations worldwide; however my door lock is not one of those locations. Substitute VISA for swipekey. Better result. Make it three feet into room and trip on "courtesy" mat. Eat shit hard onto the art-deco flavoured carpet. Seems like a nice enough place to spend the night. Why can I hear Jack Nicholson's voice?
One night down. Two to go.
I can taste vomit.
There's something to be said about an all expenses paid work conference. And that something is; they corrupt.
It should have been apparent to me as my boss and I cruised the inconceivably boring Brand Hwy in Western Australia that the excursion would be bleak. Picture 400km of (with the exception of 13 places) bolt straight road. "What only 400km?" I hear you say, "Harden up cupcake, out here we travel *insert distance greater than 400km* with no bends, scenery and only 4 colour CGA resolution."
The difference is, your road doesn't end in Geraldton.
Geraldton, a place that even the wind hauls ass through on it's was somewhere more exciting.
On the way up we discuss the 7 known murders and 6 missing persons cases along the route. We wonder how many other bodies are waiting out there. Victim of some highway wandering Rutger Hauer/Sean Bean or possibly people who died of boredom. Though, the nature of the road means that even if you did die behind the wheel, you would crash into anything until 220km up the road when you hit Dongara.
Dongara's claim to fame: We're on the way back from Geraldton.
There is a good pub there owned by a bloke we've worked with, so we hit him up for a few drinks and skip out when he mumbles something about sorting out payment.
Rolling into Geraldton we head straight to the hotel for check-in and suss out the bar. Good view, good access, but appalling refill times. Planning would be essential. Part of this plan consisted of finding out our colleagues' room numbers to bill our drinks to. Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. Or Prior Planning Prevents Poor Pissup Performance in our case. I inadvertantly give the barmaid the wrong room number, 212 instead of my 214 so some unwitting schlub wound up with a hefty bar tab. By the time I had realised my error, I realised I was in too deep. I continued the lie figuring that after a few irate hours with hotel management, Mr & Mrs 212 would walk away with the bartab (mine and theirs) totally comp.
First night's dinner went well. I got quietly trashed with our contracts manager at the end of the table. I confess that I have no idea why I'm attending this conference as I'm not actually involved in any part of the fourteen page agenda. My copy has ninja stickmen on it already. Mike agrees without discussion or comment. My feelings are slightly hurt. I drown them in another company sponsored JD&Coke.
Get back to the hotel. Go for a nightcap in the bar. Cap turns into a a stetson hat. I am informed by the slightly lazy eyed barmaid that they're stopping service soon. I strike up a cheesey and embarrasingly flirty conversation hoping to extend the bar's trading hours. It works, but I have to make more physical contact than I am pleased about. It is around the time that another hotel patron and myself discuss the finer points of the aerodynamics and airspeed capabilities of Jatz crackers. Preliminary tests don't go well. We are ushered out by the manageress whilst the barmaid applies ice water to her good, swollen, buscuit crumb enrcrusted eye. I make a mental note to skip breakfast.
I make it back to my room without incident. That is until I have to use the swipecard lock on the door. VISA is accepted at over 24 million locations worldwide; however my door lock is not one of those locations. Substitute VISA for swipekey. Better result. Make it three feet into room and trip on "courtesy" mat. Eat shit hard onto the art-deco flavoured carpet. Seems like a nice enough place to spend the night. Why can I hear Jack Nicholson's voice?
One night down. Two to go.
I can taste vomit.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
user038538:
this girl is obviously a fan...you should really do an update.
phantasy:
^ what she said.