True Story

I had performed as “Diesel” in an amateur production of West Side Story.  It was my first time on stage and all had gone well.  So well in fact that I had been voted onto the committee of the Musical society who had staged the show.  It was a simple role for someone with no experience of such a thing – PRO.  Public Relations Officer.  A fancy title for the person who is in charge of promoting the shows and the society and getting its members involved in various fundraisers and increase the profile of the group and bring in new sponsors.

Ok, so at the time it sounded easier than it was.

Anyway, the production was a sell out all week and we had invited the national amateur musical adjudicator along to judge us for possible award nominations that would be staged in Kerry later that year.

The adjudicator came and was impressed, we were now up for a total of 7 awards, including best over all show.

Most amateur musical society or group head to the awards every year.  It’s just like the Blog Awards, but for Musical Groups.

So we headed down on the train with hotel rooms booked and tuxedos rented we were half cut by the time we checked in.  The plan was to check in, drop our bags in the room and hit the pool to sober up in time for our pre paid dinner.

I don’t know why, but I tried on my tuxedo when I got to my room.  I never had a suit fit properly so I guess I just wanted to make sure it fit for this occasion.  I hadn’t had time to try it on when I picked it up because it was on the way to the train station.

I never got a chance to try it this time either.  My room mate, who had played “Action” in West Side Story had called me gay for wanting to try on an outfit before actually wearing it.  I caved and went to the pool.

The rest of the night was more or less a blur of drunkenness and games that involved pouring Guinness into the sugar bowls and finding it hilarious.

Being that I was now the group’s PRO I was trusted with the digital camera and told to capture all I could and post it on the website when we got back.  I took pictures of everything and everyone.  At one stage the Chairman of the group told me to keep an eye out for two young performers who had been so good in their show that the organisers had made up an award category for them: Outstanding debut performance.  They were nine and eleven years old, two brothers.  I had been told to grab a picture of them so that we could show our support for a new talent by giving a shout out to them on the website.

It was 2am when this requested reached me, and I was pretty fucked so it maybe was for the best that I couldn’t find them and ask for a picture.

But there was always the next night, the awards and black tie event.  I’d surely get a photo of them then.

When I woke up the next morning, the only thing that got me and my hangover up out of the bed was the pre paid buffet breakfast.  Down I went and constructed a pile of scrambled eggs, porridge and black pudding on the one plate.  Not a wonder then that the smell of these mixed items had my poor tummy churning and I had to run across the dining room to get to the jacks to throw up.

I didn’t make it.

I threw up all over the two boys I had been asked to photograph the night before that were just coming into the dining room.  Being that I was a good 15 feet away from them it was actually quite a feat to drench the two of them from where I was.  Head to toe they were literally drowned.  In hindsight I’m quite proud as it happens.

In the moment though it was a different story.  I was drenched in shame.  In a blur of embarrassment and stuttering I was trying to think of what to do to get out of this situation.  The entire dining room had come to a halt and the two kids were stunned.  Like a couple of deer in Jagermeister infused vomit.  I was stuttering apologies and hoping the ground would open up and swallow me.  It was one of the worst moments of my life I have ever had and I was about to make it worse.

What I wanted to say was this:

“Oh My God, I’m so sorry.  I’ll help you find your parents and they’ll get you to your room and get you cleaned up.  Where are your parents?  Tell them I’ll buy you new clothes, let me go back and get my wallet and we’ll get you some new clothes. I’m so sorry”.  Or words to that effect.

What actually came out was this:

“Oh *burp* fuck, shit sorry *hic* are your parents here?  We could *burp* like *hic* get you out of those clothes *hic* I’ve got some money in my room, why don’t you come up and we’ll *burp* get you in the shower *hic* where you going?”  Or words to that exact.

They ran from the dining room and I ended up in the manager’s office while they called the authorities.  After a promise that I wouldn’t go near them again and character references from a lot of people I was let off with a caution.

Humiliated I went to my room to prepare for that night’s black tie event.  I wasn’t leaving my room until I had to, which gave me plenty of time to try on my outfit.

So I showered, shaved and shuddered at what had just happened.

I went through my bags and got everything ready.  I tried on the tux.  The trousers were about four sizes too big, they were like clown pants.  Not to worry, I had a belt.

No I didn’t.

Not to worry, someone had decided to give the group a Bond style theme so we all had matching ties, cuff links and trouser suspenders.

No I didn’t.

I had made a pact with myself not to leave my room and all the clothes shops had been put on alert in case I wanted to dress any more kids up, so I was pretty fucked.

I decided it mattered not.  I was going to go to the dinner, take pictures of the awards and go back to bed and wake up on Monday morning.

And it went.  I had shamed my society and the dirty looks, whispers and what I hope was Guinness in my sugar bowl filled the night.

We won 4 of the 7 awards we were nominated for and the two boys won their special award and were the toast of the ceremony and the night.  And rightly so.  The awards finished and the DJ made a point to mention what I had done and flex his stand up comedy muscles leaving me more humiliated than before.

I left.  But not before he had awarded me a stuffed toy in the shape of a rooster, calling me the biggest cock of the year.  Rightly so.

The hotel was massive.  It was a good 10 minute trek from the ball room to my bedroom so I figured that I should go and take a wizz to make the walk of shame at least a little more comfortable as I was about to burst.

I went to the urinals and with each fluid ounce that left my bladder I felt even more empty than I had before.  But soon I’d be home and it would be reduced to memories and ammo for the lads in the pub after wards.

I turned around to the sinks to wash my hands and in walked the two boys.  There was that mutual awkward moment of “Shit, what do we do?”.

I tried to put the atmosphere at ease by assuring them:

“Don’t worry lads, I’m going to dry my hands then I’m going home”

To my surprise, the older of the two said:

“It’s ok mister, we think it’s really bad how people have been saying things about you, you didn’t mean to do what you did”

“Yeah, but it was more of what I said”

“We know, but we actually laughed about it with our parents, they knew you were just embarrassed but they wanted to teach you a lesson not to be so stupid”

“Lesson learned, thanks lads.  I still think I should make myself scarce.  Good luck”

“Seeya”, they said in unison.

It was just then that I noticed that they had their award with them.  Remembering that I had not yet taken a picture I humbly asked them if it would be ok if I could take one of them and their award.

They agreed.

As I fumbled in my jacket pocket for my camera, the trousers that I was wearing without waist support came tumbling down to my ankles.  In a panic I threw my toy rooster at them while I tried to get my pants back up.

It was just then that the toilet door swung open and the father of the two boys stood there gawping at the scene before him.  My life flashed before my eyes.

So that, is how I ended up in a toilet with two young boys, trousers around my ankles preparing to photograph them while they held my cock in their hands.

I can’t go to the awards anymore.

True story.