The one when I effectively ended my career...
I went on a high powered conference earlier this year with my boss to a small private college in the US. Behaved impeccably all week, spoke to all the right people and showed a keen interest in furthering my career. Until…

On the last night I got drunk. Monumentally, phenomenally drunk. On rum. Finally got to bed at about 6am, set my alarm for 8 as I had to catch the bus to the airport. I was awoken from my coma like state at 8.55am by my boss shrieking “What the f**king hell are you doing, the bus is leaving now. I mean now, this second.” A quick glance round my room was enough to tell me that while I’d tried to pack, all I’d done was throw clothes all over the floor. Chucked stuff in a bag while my boss went to go and tell the driver to wait. No such luck, I got outside and they’d gone. Leaving me 2 hours from the airport, still plastered. Managed to persuade a guy to give me a lift to the airport, remember very little of the dribbling conversation I must have had with the poor sod. Got there in time, checked in and found my boss. We had a good laugh over how wrong it had all nearly gone. And then…

As I queued for passport control, the hangover started to kick in. I’d drunk a bottle of coke and a coffee, but that was it. And my stomach wanted revenge. Feeling worse and worse I edged towards the desk, mentally willing myself through security so I could go and barf to my tum’s content. Handed my passport to the woman behind the counter, smiled sweetly and fainted. When I came to, I’d been propped against a wall and was being shaken by airport security. The panic in my eyes must have articulated what was coming next and the guy silently handed me a bin. Which I was promptly exorcist level sick into. In front of my boss and about 150 people queuing for passport control. Once the vomit-fest had subsided, I was asked would I like to go through security in order to board my flight. (Seriously, they were actually going to let me on the plane. Ah, these small provincial airports…). Except I couldn’t stand up.

So * takes deep breath * they put me in a wheelchair and pushed me through. And on the other side? All the people from the conference who’d had the good sense to stop drinking at a reasonable time and get the goddamn bus to the airport. Thus my humiliation was complete. I was sat in a wheelchair, covered in sick with one contact lens missing in front of a group of people who’d I’d tried to spend a week convincing they wanted to employ me. (*) I spent the 40 minute flight being sick in a bag. I then spent the 5 hour stopover at Newark on the floor in the toilets crying in shame at what I’d done. I still wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat thinking about it.

On the plus side, it’s a great story and one that’s caused much hilarity, especially as my boss reckons it’s the funniest thing she’d ever seen. Did somebody say schedenfraude? I think I just did…

(*) They didn’t. I’m still looking for a job. Oh god…
(Rakky, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 13:18, Reply)