Andria - wibbler.com

Work Do Antics

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It was the kind of weather that you really needed a jacket for.
As I rolled up – on time, remarkably – for my Work Christmas Do, I clutched my hastily drawn up “awards” to the other employees, plus a comedy speech that I hoped to make slightly before the alcohol rendered my bodily functions completely dead. I entered Bar Med in Guildford, went up to the second floor, and into the VIP section. One out of the twenty five people turning up was there: Andria, the Senior Call Handler at my company. I donned two hats, looked like I was having fun, and waited.
20 minutes later, we were still waiting, Andria rueing the 8 pints she had consumed the night before, and regretting that the only conversation i could think of was about the windows, and how I would be opening them later to yell drunkenly at people. Still, no-one turned up.
10 minutes later, everyone turned up at once, and the party got into full swing. Free buffet and free wine only hinted of the carnage to come as we danced, ate and acted like fools. It was a thoroughly good night, one we had all been waiting for for months. Michelle and Nick turned up to give me moral support, bless them, and my speech went better them I ever expected, even allowing for the odd slurred word or two. Then, at 12.30am, we were ushered downstairs for the final half an hour before closing time.
It was then that it all went a little downhill. I was winding down at the bar, talking to Michelle and Nick about absolute rubbish (stringing sentences together is not an easy task at work events, I’ve noticed). Then, mid-sentence, I noticed a few shouts, and Andria’s boyfriend being picked up and carted out of the door by three heavily-built bouncers. 5 seconds later, my brain groggily realised this may be a bad thing, and I rushed (or rather staggered) out after them.
What greeted me was pure carnage. In one corner, one entire work department was heavily arguing with some poor police officers that had merely wondered down the road. In another, Andria’s boyfriend was demonstrating with the bouncers. In yet another, Kerry was shouting rather loudly at the manager of Bar Med, telling him she was never coming here again (a fact that I imagine he was rather glad about). Nick, Michelle and I surveyed the scene with drunken amazement. Two police vans had turned up. I feigned ignorance, and walked down the road, wondering where on earth Andria was. Why wasn’t she defending her boyfriend?
It turned out that she was defending her boyfriend. A tad forcefully, as it goes. Seconds before being arrested and thrown in a police van.
And so ended a night out on the town with work colleagues. As we shivered outside the police station, a long way from any warm bed, waiting for the police to give in and hand Andria back, a final sickening realisation set in.

I’d lost my jacket.