Quite a few years ago, I worked for a large pharmacuetical company in Brisbane. I was their event co-ordinator, sales secretary and general office manager. Great job, I got to organise everyone's lives and boss them around. A good fit for me, you might say. :)
So we were having a general meeting for all the Sales Reps and Managers (about 100 or so) in our office, a big 2 story dealy with a glass walled lobby, and a massive staircase up to the top floor, where the conference room was. Usually the dress code was pretty casual, as I wasn't dealing with clients etc., but in honour of the day, I had dressed in my cute little black box-pleated flippy skirt, a darling little top and some seriously cute kitten-heeled slingback shoes. I had already worked my little butt off getting all the conference material sorted, packs out, catering organised, answering 100 or so stupid questions, so I was enjoying having everyone sequestered upstairs in the manner of all good reliable employees ; I was IMing my mates, bidding on eBay and generally mucking around on the internet.
Morning tea time, I go to the upstairs kitchen and set up tea and coffee in the outside area. The Reps and Managers descend, seagull-like, devastating my neat little buffet table and eating
absolutely everything. Lucky I kept two of the nicest muffins in the kitchen for me! haha!! Suckers!!
They all go back in, and I potter about clearing up, singing to myself because I am absolutely incapable of dealing with silence. I throw everything in the dishwasher, literally everything. I may have a deep mistrust and aversion to all things technical, but dishwashers are not encapsulated in this, I have an infallible devotion to these machines, believing they are capable of cleaning all manner of dishes, regardless of how haphazardly I throw them in. I mean, why esle would they be called a dishwasher if they didn't actually wash dishes??
I then return to my IM and eBay, sporadically doing actual work.
Later on, I go back up to empty the dishwasher and put everything away. Clearly this office fitout was designed by a man, because the upstairs kitchen has the dishwasher, but no storage, that's all downstairs. I load up all the coffee cups and plates onto these big plastic trays, like you get from a bakery (actually, exactly like you steal from behind a bakery). Hmm... it looks a little crowded, a little high and wobbly too. Hmm... maybe I should do two trips??? Pfft! What else am I going to the gym for if not to be able to lift a stupid tray? How hard can it be? Besides, that Tiffany braclet is ending on eBay soon, better get back down there.
Okay, pick it up, oh! It's not so heavy, this'll be a doddle.... oops! Little wobbly, better walk nice and carefully... there! la-de-dah-de-dah... oh, staircase now, careful, careful... there! Easy.
Cut to about 40 seconds later. Every. Single. Person. comes rushing out of the conference room, after hearing a deafening and never-ending crash. They actually though that a car had crashed through the glass lobby, it was that loud. Instead, they see me, surrounded by smashed crockery, smacked stupid and bleeding a little, flat on my ass on the stairs I had slid down after my stupid little cute strappy shoe decided to try and kill me. To make it even better, my cute little flippy skirt? Totally flipped UP around my waist! Hmm.. lucky I wore my nice knickers, as there's now a crowd of people checking them out. After a stunned moment of silence, some people rush down to help me, some piss themselves laughing. Lucky this was before the days of the obligatory camera-phone, or I'd still be regretting rating my ability to carry a tray of cups just a little too highly.