One evening last month I decided it was time to make a change. I had spent too much of my life getting embarrassingly drunk at the same old bar. Now, I promised myself, there would be a new me: I would get embarrassingly drunk at a new bar. Why not embrace all the variety life has to offer?
I picked a suitably glitzy place and doffed my proverbial cap as a cadre of bankers from a storied Wall Street firm descended on the premises. They were out celebrating a successful capital markets deal.
Their Asia head was not an acquaintance of mine, but I could see he was the type of man who chewed up the scene and a cigar while at it. He came in and walked straight to one of the female vice presidents.
“Hold this,” he said, plonking his leather satchel into the poor girl’s arms as if she was some kind of coathanger. He fished out his phone, left the bag on her arms and promptly ordered her to bring the bag to the cloakroom and hang on to the tag for the duration of the evening.
“I need a drink,” I heard the poor girl mutter.
Me too, my dear. Me too.