oh dear...
This'll probably identify me far too easily, but here goes anyway apologies in advance for length....

My 21st was held in the pub I worked at at the time. Fantastic atmosphere, loads of mates, loads of booze none of which I paid for. I had a constantly full half pint glass of single malt in front of me all the time.
Was getting more and more pissed sat at a table with my parents and a few friends, when suddenly my parents disappeared. Bit odd I think, but carry on drinking none the less. Seconds later, the door to the function room opens to the sound of some dodgy 70s porn music (you know the sort) and a builder-type guy with a yellow hard hat and ripped jeans walked in. My parents and friends had only got me a bloody stripper (and yes - I am a gayboy, and no, the pub wasn't a gay pub) My parents had obviously left the room cos they didn't want to witness their firstborn covered in baby oil feeling up a blokes cock under a very small towel whilst wearing a hard hat and a look of pissed satisfaction.
Anyway, fun was had by all and I even managed to have a nice chat with the stripper's fiancee afterwards (he wasn't even a real gayboy - bloody typical!)
At some point towards the end of the evening, my brain had obviously shut down, and the next thing I remember is waking up the following morning - god knows how I'd managed the mile and a half walk home. I opened my eyes and reached for my glasses to try to see what sort of state I was in. Could I find them? Could I fuck. At some point during the walk home I'd lost my specs. Had to phone the police to report the loss to get a number so I could claim off the insurance to get a new pair:

WPC: So, when did you lose your glasses?
Me: Erm... sometime between midnight and 3am last night
WPC: OK, where did you lose them?
Me: Erm... somewhere between 'The Pub' and home
WPC: OK, [stifling a giggle], what sort of case were they in?
Me: Erm... they weren't in a case.
WPC: Oh, so you just had them loose in your pocket?
Me: Erm... no. I was wearing them.
WPC: [laughs out loud]
Me: Sigh.

What followed was a trip to Specsavers with my mum to get a new pair within the hour. Seriously, I must have melted the bloody eye-testing machine with my whiskey breath. And I was still as pissed as a fart.
Oh well - embarassment over, I think.
Wrong.
Later that day I get a call from the pub saying they're very sorry but I need to come in to work - there's been some sort of problem and they need my help, and won't take no for an answer.
I walk into the pub and immediately get herded into the function room where I was the night before. Facing me is a 6ft x 3ft photo on photoboard of me in a black shirt, covered in baby oil (which looks remarkably like cum in the photo) with my hands locked on the contents of what was inside the strippers towel. Looking like a right state.
Whole pub applauds, and I have to phone my mum to give me a lift home with the photo almost strapped to the back of the car, visible to everyone driving behind us.
I kept that photo for about a year until I was brave enough to take it to the tip. Again, in the back of mum's car.

Good grief - it's a wonder I don't need therapy after that one!
(coderboi, Fri 9 Dec 2005, 14:41, Reply)