Last Fridays schedule was to be kept clear as the plan was; drinks and dinner to be followed by some drinks. After that, however, we found ourselves at an impasse. Our party numbered five and our ideas were none. Where should we go before? Where should we go afterward? Indecision seems to affect my company regardless of the country in which I reside. One lively soul decided to take a step out of the realm of decision-making by helpfully suggesting list a list of restaurants that we might be interested it. Mamak, Wagamama, Genghis Khan, Chinta Ria and Young Alfred were the ideas put forth. Mamak, a Malaysian eatery which is pretty basic, was instantly vetoed to my disappointment as a night of double dipping roti in unidentified spicy sauces is something I don’t have to be invited to twice. Wagamama is Wagamama, fine if a bit franchisey. Genghis Khan, a King St Wharf Mongolian barbeque with no reputation at all. Up on the top level of the wharf is the Chinta Ria which is lovely but priced appropriately for a place on the waterfront. Due to dietary restrictions of one of the group, Young Alfred, an Italian place, was ruled out. Emails went back and forth, as they do, to which I replied with something that was, at the time, amusing to me. Seeing the name Khan I replied with an elongated ‘KHAN!’ a homage to the second Star Trek movie and topical given the franchises recent activity. I then followed up the rest of my missive by punctuating each sentence with the name ‘Genghis Khan.’ It was not amusing. It was not funny, or clever, or in the least bit entertaining but it was enough to get everyone to agree. I felt like an idiot conscript. My captain had asked for a volunteer to muck out the pig stalls and I was the last one to step backwards. So Mongolian barbeque it was to be, not the worst fate but the decision to pick that restaurant from the list had been mine. If dinner was a success it would go down as a team effort, an example of how collaboration can work and a salute to democracy. If the meal was poor then I would held accountable. ‘You’re the one who ruined our Friday night’ they would say before touching a torch to the base of the stake I would be burned upon. There was nothing to be done for it. Nobody would back away from this newly laid plan and return to endless cowardly debate. Whether a hero or a villain, for the moment I remained a fool for not keeping schtum.
Hours and days filtered by until Friday arrived rather predictably after Thursday. Having watched the candle burn down on my working day I prepare to leave at the anointed hour. The plan was simple, leave when it was time to leave and there would be no room dawdling or mincing about and certainly no idle conversation was to be entertained. I pictured a Fred Flintstonesque exit, logging out of my computer with a clocking card made of stone and using the elevator as a Brontosaurus. With ten minutes on the clock a voice from behind a barrier sounded the alarm. ‘Do we have that meeting now?’ My heart raced. I understood and without judgement accepted that my colleagues were socially hermetic and a meeting when it was clearly time to leave was not to be frowned upon. I, however, am not one of my colleagues rather I am myself and I am not inclined toward the life of a hermit. Another soul, eager to fend off the rigours of life outside the office asked, ‘what meeting?’ ‘You know that meeting that they have’ said another well-up-to-speed member of the troupe. ‘Where is it on?’ ‘What time does it start?’ I mentioned to a colleague that I would be in absentia I received only a frown and short, dramatic intake of breath through pursed lips. I slumped in my chair and treated myself to a brief tantrum. Though not old I felt too old for this kind of behaviour and shook from my childish reverie. I began thinking of excuses that would get me out of this meeting. To formulate a more sound plan I would need more information and so asked a simple question. ‘What is the meeting about?’ Nobody seemed to know. It seemed as though I would be going to a meeting at some as yet undecided venue, to learn more about a subject nobody could identify at an unspecified time. All of this would happen after the point at which it was acceptable to leave on a Friday night. People were looking forward to it too. Gathering themselves up, they marched off in the direction of a slowly growing group of people. Not one to assume too much in general I thought it still a safe bet that where the group of people were was a good place to guess as the meetings intended location. This presented a problem. It was in the middle of an open plan office. Escape routes were plentiful but none could be accessed without notice. I briefly thought of those slapstick moments on television were a character ducks behind a desk and crawls like a soldier toward his exit. My desire to retain dignity out weighed my desire to leave on time but only just. As I joined the group the allure of this meeting became clear, free beer. As the Americans might say, ‘they gave it the old college try’ in getting people to join the meeting. Beer, wine and corn based snacks. It was a good plan and I tipped my cap to it in grudging respect. I remember fondly my time in college, where my friends and I would e’er be on the hunt for free beer. We would go anywhere for free beer. Indeed the phrase ‘free beer’ became synonymous with a good time. A friend would ask, ‘How was the thing last night?’ I could simply respond with a ‘free beer’ and that would be enough to mark it as a pleasant event. I think I may have even joined The Young Socialist Party in search of free beer. Embarrassing as that is now my reasoning at the time was that if those shiftless layabouts wanted to share everything they could share their plenty with me. I could endure some Bolsheviks rant about the evils of the bourgeoisie once my cup was full. Needless to say I scooped up a drink from the cool box and weaved my way to a dish of mixed nuts. Nerdfolk, in general, possess notoriously weak constitutions, thus increasing the percentage chance of some of the attendees suffering from nut allergies. I theorised that this, where the mixed nuts were situated, would be the thinnest section of the crowd where I might slip out unnoticed. After a few moments of off-the-shelf, pre-meeting small talk, the chair arrived. I turned to position myself closer to an escape route but found that I was surrounded by colleagues who had inexplicably shaken off their crippling fears of nuts and anaphylaxis. I was trapped and to make matters worse I was nearing the end of my beer. Uttering an apology for late start of the meeting the head guy pulled out a sheet of paper and proceeded to list off achievements and congratulations and plans for the coming year. By the time he had arrive at the ‘v’ in achievements I was dry and the salt from the mixed nuts was taking its’ effect. There was wine within reach but it was too much to hope that no one would notice me drinking wine by the neck or decanting it into my empty beer bottle.
After a quarter of an hour the meeting ended and curiously some people remained behind to continue with their small talk. Or maybe they were simply saying a polite goodbye and I perceived this to be hanging around. I on the other hand ran from the meeting, perhaps unwisely shouting, ‘It’s about f***ing time.’ Following this I waded into traffic, the typical forty-five minute journey taking close to two hours in the weekend rush. At home, I managed to park my car and spruce myself up a bit before departing for the training station. I estimated that the journey, from my front door to the evenings first glass of wine, would take roughly fifty minutes. After leaving the house I found myself hoping to find a complimentary newspaper on the train, to while away the thirty minutes of travel. After the first stop, my journey became surprisingly entertaining. I took a seat at the front of the carriage and was subsequently joined by a young lady of perhaps nineteen or twenty years. She was of average height, with blond hair and was wearing makeup that had evidently been applied in a rush or by accident. She also had a very large and conspicuous hole in one of the legs of her tights. She appeared to be agitated, and began checking her phone every couple of moments and upon discovering nothing to her satisfaction, huffed and tutted. I stifled a grin and poorly at that. I think she noticed and added a roll of her eyes some more tutting. Eventually her phone rang and she answered with all the absence of politeness one could muster. A brief exchange followed and I pieced together from her side of the conversation that she was late for engagement and still had a half hours journey before her. The call ended as abruptly as it started. The young lady stood with an almost imperceptible stamp of one of her heavy heeled shoes. This was followed by petulant pacing up and down the standing area of the carriage. An elderly woman of Chinese appearance entered same area of the carriage and upon noticing the gait of my travelling companion turned and went to look for a seat elsewhere. The huffing had developed into curses masked with all the clumsiness of one looking for attention. I continued through the property section of my complimentary magazine, counterfeiting apathy but still my grin remained. Another call came but this time she was more polite. It was clear that whatever circumstance she found herself in that at the other end of the phone was a person who held for her hope of salvaging a Friday night. Another two calls and it became clear that the girl had a certain task as did other in her absent party. Someone was going to drive around to collect someone else; another was going to get alcohol of varying descriptions and my new and still nameless friend was in charge of purchasing the drugs. I assumed she was buying pills as she referred to the prize as ‘them’ or ‘they’ and not ‘it.’ Eventually after another round of phone calls she had arranged a suitable amount for the sum total of eighty dollars, ten of which she dropped on the floor of the carriage. She did notice she had lost the note but only due to the good nature of the train in catapulting her about a metre forward. I would have pointed out the cash as it occurred to that I would appreciate the same gesture and I was concerned that she may be participating in a deal where she would have less money than promised. Stylised visions of newspaper headlines born of watching too much of The Wire spun in my mind and the guilt I might have felt for having let her go ill prepared. At my fourth last stop she broke our silence and asked at what station had we stopped. Listening to an announcement and looking at the well-lit, floor-to-ceiling signs declaring our then current location I answered. She replied with a thank you and smile. She seemed all the more pleasant for the burden of drug buying being all but lifted, a little pre-high, high. After three more stops of the same stupid question she arrived at her destination and alighted. We both of us had had stressful days, but nothing sooths like Friday night.
It was the next morning that I reflected on an enjoyable evening. Having consumed lots of wine, some beers and a Long Island iced tea that may have been poured from a can I slept in until four in the afternoon, a disgraceful hour by anyone’s standards. The meal of the previous night was poor. The food was of a cheap take-away quality, it was relatively expensive and given the theme of the establishment I had to do most of the work myself. Mercifully, it appears my new boy in town status remains somewhat intact and I allowed my fellow revellers to think that the faire at Genghis Khan was the equivalent of haute cuisine from Ireland. Ordinarily I am not the biggest fan of pity, given or received but I welcomed their culinary pity with open arms and assume I shall be relieved of decision making duties for the foreseeable future.
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