Happy Pie Chart Friday, readers–especially one reader in particular who took me up on my gracious offer of providing horrendous advice and may have unknowingly jump-started my very successful career as an R-rated advice columnist. Only time will tell, but I have already started spending and celebrating as if this career trajectory is a given, so let’s make it happen people, otherwise I won’t be able to pay my rent which was due last week. And I’ll be drunk. I am drunk.
But enough about me, today’s Pie Chart Friday is dedicated to what I think about a reader’s pressing submission on professionalism, performance, and pre-event jitters.
Dear Mrs Pants.
My work place has a “music festival” every summer, and for some reason I thought it would be an excellent idea to perform some dated mainstream rock music this year as part of a band of overweight and balding 40-somethings.
As the night approaches I am quite literally crapping my pants (I know you know what I mean) and suspect that I will spend the entire performance rooted to the spot like a statue and fail to interact with the audience at all.
I wonder, with your extensive experience of making a twat of yourself, if you could advise me on how to lose all inhibitions and put on a show so memorable that I am either revered as a god forevermore, or summarily sacked the following day.
Yours hopefully, pp72
My dearest pp72:
You’ve come to the right place and, as your resident pants-shitting, loose-inhibition twat, I’m almost overly qualified to answer this question. But I will anyway.
Of course, my first instinct was to recommend the following course of action:
Note I said “consume” instead of “drink.” Did you know that you can administer alcohol up your anus? I’m not positive this is the case, but I remember hearing about it somewhere and being intrigued. Not aroused; intrigued.
Anyway, upon second thought, it occurred to me that you are probably already drunk and indeed were very much so when you signed up to both attend and perform at this event in the first instance. So, my gut recommendation doesn’t really apply and although I have experimented with the “more drunker” approach, I wouldn’t recommend it here because adding to your already heightened state of intoxication will just put you to sleep before you even get on that stage, negating your entire dilemma. God knows we wouldn’t want to do that.
Instead, I think the logical route here is, first, to fully embrace how much you really despise your work place and all the mediocre humans residing therein. This no doubt must be the case because no one likes their job and even fewer people like their colleagues–assuming, for the moment, that makes sense. Once you start viewing things through this perspective, you will come to see that your participation in this work place music festival is nothing more than an innocent and well-intentioned hate crime against all those in attendance. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but something as fun as a hate crime should not be accompanied by anxiety! It most certainly should not be accompanied by one or more wet farts UNLESS that is part of the audience interaction plan. If it is: cheers to you, my friend. I’ve used the ole’ “shit my pants” song and dance in many the situation, but have not yet leveraged it in such unique circumstances.
Anyway, tonight, tomorrow, or whenever this awful idea of a work-place-sponsored “music festival” is scheduled to occur, get your 40-something bald ass up on that stage and don’t just tell your bosses and coworkers you hate them. SING IT! SHIT IT! Do whatever you need to do to show them how disgusting their existence really is. Best of luck and please send the YouTube link.
I love you dearly, El “the twat” Abernaty