Office Christmas Meal

It was our ‘team Christmas meal’ last night, in deepest, Burberry Essex. A local Chinese restaurant was suggested. “It’s a decent Chinky.”

We revved up for dinner in a pub I can only describe as shit. Four pint pitchers for a fiver. Old blokes mumbling into them. We stumbled to the restaurant.

Some shaven headed Essex boys sat at the only other occupied table. Chunky gold chains worn outside the shirt. They said knowwhatimean a lot and sent a beer to our table because our conversation was ‘entertaining’. It was a provocative gesture and one I was quite happy to ignore. Unfortunately the others took the bait. The beer was sent back. I didn’t realise at the time, but someone in our group spat in it. This did not go unnoticed on the chunky chain table.

One of my colleagues went to the toilet. Two of the chunky chainers followed him. There was trouble a brewing. By degrees everyone gravitated to the toilets. Amid the squaring up and “You. Outside. Now” talk was the manager of the restaurant; a tiny Chinese guy trying to restore calm. Remarkably, he succeeded. A round of drinks for the lairy chaps was organised. Lager, mostly. “They ain’t wurf it” was the chunky chained conclusion.

And that should have been that. Except, one of my colleagues and his boss were obviously fired up and started at each other. “I’m resigning because you’re a twat.” “Fine, you’re useless anyway.”

Chairs were scraped back. Calm downs were issued. “I’m not having this.” Cash was thrown down onto the table and a hasty exit made. Too hasty in fact as he forgot his bag! The bossman followed him which was a little disappointing as he didn’t come back and he was paying.

The situation this morning is a little tense. To say the least.