One of the most awkward moments I’ve ever had still haunts me now. (It’s an anecdote that lends itself better to being acted out, but that’s a bit difficult through the medium of a blog so just picture the scene instead please, you obedient little monkeys…)
I was a fresh-faced young media executive, straight out of uni, wanting to make a good impression in my sparkly, new Landaaaan job. Just a matter of weeks into the role I had one of those generic pesky computer issues, so called down a request for a guy from IT to come check it out.
Waiting patiently in my little swivel chair before my little frozen screen I extended myself into one of those big, delicious stretches when you spread your arms as wide as they will go and squeeeeeze your hands into balls. What I didn’t anticipate is that Mr IT had walked up behind me at just the wrong time and at just the wrong angle. And instead of squeeeeezing my hands tightly into balls I squeeeeezed my hands tightly around balls.
Expecting – I can only presume – the usual “Oh hi, yeah – my computer’s broken…” this chap was met instead with a vice-like grab of his nethers.
Flinging myself around the only two words my pea-brain could find and string together, as I stared up into his shocked face, were: “Happy Christmas”.
It was mid-September.