|Yes. And it's fucking shit, too|
Seems The Corb is pissing people off again. Apparently, he wants to ban after-work drinks on the grounds that they're "sexist". Not what he appears to have meant, but when has Corbyn been misquoted or taken out of context by our lovably impartial and agenda-free mass media?
If he had said that, however, I would have agreed with him. Not sure about the "sexist" part, not really for me to judge. But after-work drinks are appalling.
Last November, where I work an "event" was organised for a Curry Night. Me? Well, I did the poster that went up on the staff noticeboard (I'm the only person there competent in Microsoft Publisher). That'll be it, I thought, done my bit. No need for me to go. But they invited me anyway. "Note to self" I thought "Be ruder next time."
It was set up for a Sunday, and everyone was supposed to meet in the nearer of the two local Wetherspoons. Thankfully, that's not one of the days I work, so I spent a couple of hours in the local fortifying myself with Evil Keg before walking down to Spoons. Best get it over with, I sighed. It was 7pm and I was the first to arrive.
As is their wont, nobody arrived simulteneously. They trickled in one at a time and we had to keep moving to ever bigger tables, as Spoons is not really amenable to furniture shifting. An hour in, I was at the bar ordering a pint of something, when the works Lad Clique turned up. They ordered Jagerbombs and downed them while their pints of lager were being poured.
"If it's going to be that kind of night, I don't want to be here." I said to myself. I didn't go to the curry house. Using my finely-honed avoidant skills, I slunk off without anybody noticing. Within 15 minutes, I was back at the local, pondering my narrow escape.
Next morning, I was in for 8am. Having gone to bed at 11:30pm I was relatively fresh. Which is more than can be said for my colleagues, many of whom were hung over. Some hadn't even turned up for work. One admitted driving from a nearby town quite probably over the legal limit. That day, many tales were told of the less than edifying behaviour of certain people who had exceeded their alcohol tolerance at The Popworld club on Church Street.
And these events are meant to improve productivity and workplace cohesiveness.
I knew enough not to stay out. These things rarely end well, and are probably the cause of many missed days work and accidents the day after. Ever since, I've come up with excuses not to go on works nights out - some real, some pre-emptive, some entirely fictional. I'm sure I'll be seen as some kind of killjoy, censorious prig for not going. But, sadly, I just don't enjoy these things.
They're planning a Bridget Jones Movie night next. I said give me the date. So I can plan something else.