Friday, March 19, 2010

Floor Stalker

I am at a multi-day forum cum conference in London on Tuesday with an associate. I cannot stand these things and avoid them at all costs: the networking is amateur, the knowledge is poor, and the quality of the speakers is frankly rubbish.

In this era, who the fuck has days to swan around like this anyway?


The losers manning the booths avoid eye contact with me. They detect I am a predator and are confused as to why I am swimming in such shallow waters.


Wait. There is a very pretty petite blond in jeans and a white cashmere top with the most glorious breasts.
Is she following me? I stop and turn. She looks away. I carry on. She carries on. I stop to speak to a booth loser. I make polite conversation. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her. She has stopped at the booth next to me and is perusing a brochure.

The hunter becomes the hunted. I am being stalked on the conference floor. My associate rocks up to my side.

“Check her out man,” whispers me, titling my head to the side.

“Good lord,” says he staring at her chest, “that’s got to be the 8th natural wonder of the world… and the 9th."

Slowly she looks up at us, smiles and approaches. We’re like stunned animals in the headlights. Dumb and dumber. I see a small bead of saliva drool out of the corner of my associate’s mouth.

“Hi guys,” she quips, “want to come to Afters with me?”

My associate is stammering a repetitive nonsense of monosyllabic gasps trying to extricate a response. I pick up the baton.

“Where are Afters,” I ask, my voice crackling like a pre-pubescent schoolboy whose balls haven’t dropped?

“Stringfellows,” she says smiling.

My associate and I look at each other and smile, chuckling.

Brilliant!. She is from the lap dancing bar and is
doing a booming trade giving out passes to a free VIP Afters at the club. This is more like Vegas than London. She has the only proposition on the floor that most people understand relative to the collective heap of rabble.

We take our free VIP passes, thank her and leave. I am still hungover from a client dinner on Monday. Monday is a brutal night for a client dinner. I head to my hotel to bed. No Afters for this boy tonight.

Besides, it is Tuesday. Thursday is lap dancing night and not Stringfellows. I prefer the other place.

Beaverboosh

8 comments:

daisyfae said...

the only reason i will go to a conference is is one or more of my 'dawg boyz' will be there to play... i like the sales technique of this gal - she deserved a chance to gring upon you for being cheeky!

nursemyra said...

I could see that coming.....

tomeoftheunknownblogger said...

Awwww, I was thinking this might be a spy story BB. But, it turns out to be nothing more than subtle prostitution. Well, maybe not so subtle?

Zhu said...

Isn't the most important thing at these kind of event the food you get to eat? I always picture fancy catering but I could be wrong.

Michele said...

I think it's totally appropriate that a stripper would show up at a forum cum conference.

dorothy said...

funny. i've missed you boosh. post more regularly. dammit.

thegnukid said...

okay, i hear you say conferences are painful. but i need to get out and play more in life and that story sounds just the ticket. where do i sign up for the next conference?

(and, somehow, i just don't picture you stumbling into an adolescent flop sweat...)

beaverboosh said...

df - the boyz sound cool... she gets an A for effort... i get an F for cheeky!

nm - glad you could see it coming, we had no clue, I have never seen anything like it an event like this... guess it kinda makes sense in this era!

rob - totally not subtle, nothing subtle about it, no sireee

zhu - oh dear, the food is shite

michele - you and nm, thats the times we live in... shocked me though

d - hey sweet thing, where ya been

gnu - let me know when you are next in London, they are almost every week... i was actually shocked... really