Friends, there are certain times when my job is freaking amazing, and last week was one of those times. I spent several days at a world-class event repping a powerhouse brand, rubbing shoulders with racing royalty in one of the most beautiful places to which I’ve had the pleasure of traveling. You can fill in the blanks yourselves. Summer events like these are what get us through the long, cold days of auto show season. But some of these great places seem to drive some people to drink.
I was oh-so-pleasantly surprised that 99.99 percent of our participants fully followed my previously published guidelines of good behavior at automotive events. Patience and niceties were the name of the game. I heard “please”! I heard “thank you”! I had lovely conversations with people who showed respect for what I was saying! Pretty much everyone I was dealing with had scads of money yet not a single one threw the “Don’t you know who I am?” line at me to get what they wanted. In short, it was a dream job.
Until Drunky McDrunkerson showed up.
Dear Drunky was so hammered that he couldn’t stand on his own, instead he was relying on a patio pillar to prop up his considerable heft. Drunky began his flirtation with a plea for sympathy. Turns out he was so hammered that he tumbled out of a golf cart going about half a mile an hour and had the injuries to prove it: a skinned knuckle and bloody shin. Hot, right?
Self-inflicted alcohol injuries are hilarious by definition, but Drunky mistook my mirth for romantic machinations. Encouraged, he slowly but surely broke out the heavy artillery until he was offering his exotic sports car and tickets to Kings of Leon in exchange for my company that evening. It took a while to figure this out, however, as he was slurring so heavily that the foreign accents swirling around us were far easier to decode. Gravity was pulling him down the pillar that had been propping him up.
Since Drunky couldn’t take no for an answer the first dozen or so times, I finally told him I would meet him when I was getting off, and I gave him a full hour after my real quitting time. By which time I would be long gone. You might think this was mean, but frankly he wasn’t going to remember this entire conversation fifteen minutes later anyway, so it’s not like he was going to show up.
Eventually I was rescued by a caring coworker, then Drunky’s friends moved him along. But Drunky did not give up. In fact, several other booth babes told me nearly identical tales of Drunky, down to the golf cart incident. If at first you don’t succeed, etc., I suppose.
But you know what? Drunky may have been a bit overbearing and obviously wasted, but he never actually said anything wholly inappropriate. He never tried to touch or grab me. He never called me “babe” or any variation thereof and didn’t talk down to me on automotive product knowledge. And he never once asked, “Do you come with the car?”
Thank you Drunky McDrunkerson, wherever you are, for making the weirdest part of my awesome work week even more awesome.
PS: You may want to call the Betty. Or at least give your pal the keys to that exotic.
The Booth Babe is an anonymous auto show model who dishes about what really goes on behind the scenes. Read her blog at http://doyoucomewiththecar.blogspot.com. And if you treat her nicely, read her each Sunday at Thetruthaboutcars.com