I kept my expectations non-existant over the brand conference that my place of work has every year. My outfit reflected this - a ‘uniform’ of poo-pants, sneakers and t-shirt. This t-shirt, with its rather revealing opening at the back was the only clue why four girls would turn up that morning with the same topshop black dress, and after much squealing, chase each other down to the local franchaise to purchase a more unique alternative.
Fastforward to 20 past 3 pm. I and 1500 other employees around the country are creating pinstripes through the streets, waiting for oversized coaches to take us to THE location. We get lost. We arrive. We wait. All 1500 alight. To relieve our waiting we are given feel good drinks. I Feel good. We sit. We watch ourselves watching ourselves watch others. Rows on rows lit up by our glowing faces. I ask a bouncer where the toilets are. Tactics. A bit too fancy for my wee. Theres hand cream too.
Topman’s fashion show surprises me. Then the bouncer stands up to give a speach. Next comes miss Jane Shepherd, rather more at home on the mike than the bouncer. Following her are skeletons in oversized hats and baggy clothes.
We wait. Awards are given out. People clap. We wait.
Then I see the dodgems. Katey and I smile. I can’t wait. But I know everyone wants to socialise. Drink. Talk about the conference. Gossip. I don’t want to seem to one-track minded or pushy. Finally Tab is my saviour. The wirlygig she cries. We wait. We run. Tab instructs me how to get the most whirl out of our gig. But our gig has lost whirl. Finally, a girl whirls our cries of disappointment into cries of hedonistic delight.
whhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiirrrrlllllll.
I’m high. Everyone else is medium. We chat. We explore. I hear people lose themselves on these conferences. They lose their loyalites, memories and skirts. Amongst the discussion is a dodgem break. Kate dodges us with subtle style. We decide to get up on stage and do Rage Against the Machine. That would be the perfect end to the night. A song you don’t sing but Ssream, ‘Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me’. Shame we couldn’t be squeezed in between ‘These Boots Were Made For Walking’ and ‘Should I Stay or Should I go’…