The Ice Incident

Have you ever done something and almost instantly regretted it? Yes, well, ladies and gents I am here to make you feel so much better about yourselves. This is how I go through life. I say things on impulse and then regret them- usually because they’re offensive- and I do things, stupid things, that I’ll have no recollection of the thought process of how I got from point A to point oh shit.

Before I tell you about one of my latest pursuits of idiocy, I think you need some context:

I laugh when I am nervous, I have a new boss and I am a bar girl at a local yacht club.

There are no happy mediums at a yacht club bar. You are either staring into space, contemplating suicide by drink stirrer or you are so shit-the-bed busy you don’t care that you just served wine in a pint glass and you pray for the band to start playing Mr. Brightside so everyone will just leave for three minutes so you can get your shit together. (I’ve never actually served wine in a pint glass, but you get my drift)

It was during one of those lulls in which everyone vacates the bar to dance that this incident took place. I made the harrowing mission to re-fill the ice bucket, weaving through dancing drunks to the freezers and back again when I see him. In a movie, this would be when the slow motion would kick in. I see my new boss, innocently watching the band and so blissfully unaware that his employee is a freaking nut job. I throw it at him. I pick up a clump of ice and chuck it at him. I am an able-bodied (ish) and able-minded (at times) girl who has just thrown a fairly sizable chunk of ice at my boss.

I don’t remember the thought process, I don’t actually recall thinking ‘this will be fun’, it just sort of happened. Sods law dictates that he turns at the precise moment ice left my hand and it smacks him square in the head. He’s thinking the ceiling is falling down or he whacked his head on something because surely no one would lob ice at their new boss. There was a nanosecond of hope in which I thought I might actually get away with it. Except, I start to laugh. Uncontrollably. I howl and cackle in what can only be described as a nervous fit as he becomes aware of what has actually just happened. He looks from the incriminating ice on the floor to me in all of my howling glory and I can’t stop it. I try to apologise and I can’t, I try to explain and I just can’t, my motor functions have been completely consumed by this anxiety-induced fit of laughter. I just leave, I return to the haven of my bar where I spend the next 20 minutes crying with laughter, explaining everything to a co-worker and then the rest of the shift shitting my pants that I was about to lose my only source of income because I threw ice at my boss. 

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UK Student and Lifestyle Blogger. Coffee Snob. Adventure Lover. Book Reader. Gilmore Girls Aficionado.

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