Esoteric Part II: Cocktails and Mulligans

Friday morning, 7:53am. Day 10 of my new job, bleary eyed at my desk.

The analysts, the Directors, the Associates, none of them have quite made it in yet. I am gripping my coffee and praying that, after the 4th shot last night, I did not make too much of a fool out of myself, but somewhere, sometime between leaving the bar and making my way across town to funky Gastown club to dance the remainder of the night away, my memory has taken an unexpected relapse. And I am fairly confident it is never coming back.

The event was NOG, a networking and social affair much feted in Vancouver's circles and all for the benefit of those young people in the banking business; bring in the lawyers, the investment bankers, the analysts, the suits and coiffed hair. The Nurse says that it was an unfair test on me. I'd had a long week, I knew the guys who owned the bar from my old partying days, I needed to let my hair down. And there were men in suits; and although I have not really been one to be attracted to power, I certainly felt a little weak knee'ed when the bar started to fill.

Granted, I wasn't even supposed to be there what with my lowly position in the banking business but as my company was behind the organization; I was there to uhh... collect tickets and represent my colleague who begged off with a headache. So when my new boss handed me a shooter, I was faced with a dilema.

Whatever is a gal to do?

Politely decline and make her way home?
Or knock it back with a smile and show those bankers how to party?

I am a proud woman. And there are few things that I can do, and do well. Drinking is one of them.
Tact, discretion, logic all fall far from grace.

And Friday afternoon when Esoteric rings to push our date back an hour, I know I am buggered. I am knackered. I am hung over, and as I am about to pack up for the weekend a project lands squarely on my desk. To be completed, the Associate says in a panic, by Monday am. As I eventually manage to leave the office, fall into an awaiting cab to rush home and find the energy to muster up the wit, the charisma, the charm I luckily get my second wind.

And when he smiles and says he's not at his best tonight and cheekily announces as he takes my hand, that tonight shall be a Mulligan; I am eternally grateful.

Even though I did have to have some clarification. At least I've another dating term to add to my lingo.

As well as the right card to pull when I'm feeling less than fabulous.