I finished my training programme a few weeks ago and last week had the chance to celebrate with my “graduation” ceremony.
I knew it was going to be tragic before I even turned up. We were sent this half hearted, lame attempt at an invitation. By this, I mean we had a Word document attached to an email, with shitty clip art pictures, terrible illegible font choices, and the word “Buffett” not “buffet”.
So as Thursday came along, I’d spent approximately 3 minutes choosing my outfit, pigged out on a Dominoes beforehand and rocked up at 7pm on the dot, sober as can be, due to the fact I had to drive home.
All was looking fab.
As we were ushered into an awkward drinks reception, and stood chatting to people, I looked around and saw a whole host of faces I didn’t recognise. Great.
To add to this, I was feeling fat and uncomfortable in my poorly selected outfit.
As the evening started, we were introduced to the whole cringe fest by our course director. Who then proceeded to do a weird, awkward short chat about each of us trainees, before we made an uncomfortable walk to the front of the room, to have our photo taken with her whilst everyone else spectated. It was honestly my worst nightmare.
My moment came and went pretty quick, a fairly pleasant speech and some awkward photos, I was done.
Next came the “Buffett”. Yum – carbs, carbs and more carbs. I picked at some fish fingers and that was it.
The night hadn’t really eased at all, and the mood felt quite stilted and tense – mainly because we all knew that this was a total bloody shambles.
But then came the icing on the cake.
One person in the room was and truly FUCKED (excuse my language!) They spent the entire time, twirling and whirling, boogying and bouncing their way across an empty dance floor. The rest of us sat and watched, laughing as we do, at the misfortune of others.
They then tried to get some of the boys up and dancing, arms flailing, lips pouted like a love-drunk teenager. It was horrendous.
At around 10pm after a pretty painful 3 hours, I finally managed to walk away to the comfort of my car.
I understand that people need to let their hair down, but it’s pretty damn embarrassing when you’re the only one.