Tales from a past life - baptism of fire
Before I worked for Big American Company, I worked for Smaller American Company. I was the sales office junior. The company was doing very well and some people were earning lots of money. I moved from Yorkshire to start work there in the autumn of 86, I think. Initially I stayed in a bed and breakfast before sharing a house for a while in Chiswick and then a flat in Ealing. The office building was brand new and quite imposing, situated by Langley Station near Slough. I spent about two and a half years there. It was a bit of an eye opener.
At the first Christmas party (in a local restaurant), I was surprised that most people were dressed as though they were going to do some gardening, I was looking quite smart, at least to start with; by the end of the evening I was soaked and covered in all sorts of stuff. Moments after arriving at our table, it was on fire and I don’t mean a singed napkin, I am talking kitchen staff running into the restaurant armed with fire extinguishers, and using them. I was shocked not so much at the pyrotechnics but at how funny everyone in my group thought it was. Not long after that the bosses were on the table with trousers down and there was food flying in all directions. I got into the spirit of things a bit better than the people from the company who had booked the other half of the restaurant.
The next few years of what you could laughing call my career, were punctuated by a number of similar meals, for which it has to be said, I was better prepared. One of my favourites was at a sales conference at a hotel in Bristol. The evening had started with flying food etc but by three in the morning in the bar, many people having left through fatigue and after the barman had got the hang of not falling for being distracted, whilst people stole booze, there was a quiet little cadre, giggling the night away. That was until a particularly naughty member of our team (who has gone on to be an important person in the industry ), despatched someone into the dining room (adjacent to the bar) on some pretext or other. There were no lights on in there but the tables were set for breakfast. Once his friend was in there fumbling about, our hero launched a salvo of large silver trays into the darkness; moments of silence were followed by very loud crashes and prostestions. Needless to say everyone sobered up quite quickly and a couple of people grabbed the protagonist and we all headed into the foyer. I ran ahead to call the lift but was overtaken by a large plant in a pot which smashed against the wall by the lift button. I can remember the way the mud stuck to the hessian. Things degenerated from there. The next day a number of us were summoned to the Sales Director’s office for a bollocking. To his credit, the nutter tried to take the blame. I will always remember the director’s response, “ Your attitude is creditable, but I have spoken with the hotel manager an there is no way that one person could have caused that much damage, at least you have the balls to own up; unlike your colleagues here”. I wish I had had the temerity to protest “no really; it was all him”, as it was I was singled out as I had not been drinking.
Later at Big American Company there was a Christmas lunch which took place at a restaurant called Borscht’n Tears in Beauchamp Place; chosen because it advertised itself as a “dancing on the tables” kind of place. Again we were one of two companies who had the whole restaurant to ourselves. The first hour or so was quite quiet. Amusingly, one of us would occasionally lob a piece of turkey or the like on a high trajectory (so as to make the source harder to trace) into the other company’s area. This typically caused a minor skirmish to break out amongst them. As the afternoon went on the tension was increasing and there must have been those in the other company group who suspected what was going on; but felt unable to act without proof. Eventually we were too careless and a gravyed potato was seen leaving our section of the restaurant, destination carnage. The escalation of hostilities was immediate, it was all out war. Within a few seconds (the guitarist having fled) our table was on its side so that we could shelter behind it taking turns to stand up and throw two or three handfuls of anything you could before dropping behind it again to regroup, like Paul Newman and Robert Redford.
Very soon the restaurateur was dancing about, apoplectic, trying to restore order. My favourite memory of that occasion was, through the mayhem, observing the crowd of people outside on the pavement peering in through the windows (before the police arrived).
