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City GirlOccasionally my boss comes up with a good idea, such as the recent managers’ conference in Krakow with our European counterparts. It was a shame she made a complete fool of herself, but the ­benefit of hindsight is a beautiful thing.

Her downward spiral started in the airline’s­ business lounge, when the conversation­ got onto seat numbers and I casually revealed I had seat 1A. My boss, adopting a facial expression that Anne Robinson could only dream of, spat: “That’s ridiculous. I’m a gold-tier customer loyalty cardholder.” And off she stalked to complain­. The check-in guy held his nerve, so my boss used her crazy-cow stare at me.

Matters got worse on the flight when I deliberately selected the last available salmon lunch; she was left with the “ghastly” chicken stew.

Arriving at the hotel, the suitcases were off-loaded at reception and the debauchery got under way. The next morning, as we all huddled in the buffet breakfast queue like methadone addicts waiting at the pharmacy­, it was apparent that the first day was going to be a washout. Instead of getting down to business, we piled into taxis and headed to bars for round two. The compliance manager­, who doesn’t get out much, guzzled­ several large whiskies and insisted on shouting “giddy up” whenever a woman came within spitting distance.

There was a worrying moment, though, when an American woman tourist asked him: “Tell me, which village is missing its idiot?” To which the head of corporate finance­ replied: “Oooh, watch out for the bovine one.” This prompted mooing noises from my London colleagues, all men, apart from my boss, who didn’t notice as she was orally occupied with a Polish boy.

The second day was more productive, and marked by my boss’s absence, as we pressed on with the art of point-scoring. Towards the end of it, we were gathered in the foyer when a shrieking noise ­punctured the morgue-like silence.

Looking towards the revolving doors, I saw my boss, like a garment on a giant spin cycle, trying to get into the hotel in her rat-arsed state. Eventually she made it and God knows what drunken antics she had ­inflicted on the good burghers of Krakow. But, as she swayed lopsidedly towards us, it was obvious the cobbled streets of the ­medieval city had taken their toll – she was missing one of her beloved Jimmy Choos.


Friday 14th September, 2007 posted by City Girl
Guest_Maeve says: City Girl, I adore your diary, it's addictive.
Wednesday 26 September 2007 19:32

Guest_Matthew says: Outrageous behaviour - no wonder we're labelled as drunks in europe
Monday 17 September 2007 09:23



 


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