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The Night I Don't Remember That They Never Let Me Forget

I had a great time that night

By Lawson WallacePublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 4 min read
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The Night I Don't Remember That They Never Let Me Forget
Photo by Caroline Attwood on Unsplash

I had been working for an Electronics Manufacturer in St. Petersburg Florida for several months. I had heard so many stories about the annual pig roast. I was wilder then than I am now. I wasn’t going for the food.

The night of the pig roast I got my uncle to take me and drop me off; I arrived early, I headed straight for the nearest keg. I was well on my way to being trashed before most of the people showed up and the food was served. I don’t remember the rest of the evening.

I woke up late the next morning. I had a sick headache. My dad was sitting at the dining table smoking a cigarette and working on a crossword puzzle. I didn’t see my uncle, so I asked Dad, “Where’s Richard?” My dad looked up and gave me a stern look.

“He’s cleaning your puke off my van.” I apologized to my dad and my uncle; it was the first of many apologies. I rested the rest of the day; I went to work Monday with no idea of the maelstrom I was heading into.

I was employed as a janitor; I grabbed the janitor’s cart and went to work. Co-workers were slapping me on my back and laughing; some of them were anyway. The co-workers not laughing were glaring daggers or pointedly ignoring me.

I’m grateful that no one videoed that night, and I’m happy I don’t remember what I did and said, and I did and said a lot, none of it very nice. I was shocked to find out that I was the poster boy for every cliche of the company drunk.

People wouldn’t speak to me for weeks. I spent my days apologizing for things I didn’t remember saying or doing. One woman didn’t show up that Monday. She was gone the first part of the week, and when she came back, she ignored me.

A male co-worker was mad I wanted to cut in line at the keg, he took exception to me cutting in front of him, so I offered to beat his ass. I’m a big guy, but I’m a jellyfish; I can’t imagine fighting anyone for a beer.

The day got progressively worse. I spent weeks apologizing to people. I was so mortified by my behavior that I thought about quitting the job and going back to being a security guard. It got worse and worse.

I was working on a Saturday. I was cleaning the breakroom, the whole time a woman was watching me quietly. After several minutes she finally said something. “Hi Lawson, how are you doing?”

I looked at her quizzically and asked, “I’m doing good, have we met before?” I should have known.

“We met at the pig roast.” She said as I silently pleaded for the floor to swallow me whole.

“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry,” I said. “Will it ever end?” I thought as the woman smiled. “What did I say?” She chuckled a little.

“What didn’t you say? You were pretty out there.” I apologized some more, and we talked a little about the pig roast that I couldn’t remember, then we both went back to work at our respective jobs. Every day I went to work it was more and more embarrassing, But the worst thing was hurting Gina’s feelings.

Gina was younger than me, she was an attractive young lady and a very nice person, I was crazy about her. I was a shy insecure young man, I never had the nerve to ask her out or show my interest in any way, at least not until the pig roast.

Hi Gina, how have you been?” I asked one morning, I hadn’t seen her in a few days, that should have given me a clue. Gina didn’t seem enthused about seeing me or having to speak to me. I soon was again wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

“Yes Lawson,” she answered. “I was at the pig roast, you asked me to sit on your face.” I damned near had a heart attack. One more apology after a week of apologies. I never did ask Gina out. One of my greatest regrets.

I never went to another company party, and I made a vow never to drink in excess in public ever again. It was almost thirty years ago, but I have never forgotten the aftermath of the pig roast. I hope everyone I came in contact with that night has forgotten me.

This is a true story

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About the Creator

Lawson Wallace

Sixty-one year old married guy, currently living in South Carolina. I live with my wife twenty miles outside of Columbia. I write about my personal experiences and anything else I can think of.

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