Ed lingers at my desk.

I can tell that he wants to talk to me about something but I am fixed on my eBay auction and I do not have the capacity to engage in anything else. eBay auctions are EXTREMELY serious.

“What’s up Ed? Do you need something?” I reluctantly ask.

“My granny died”, he tells me.

I want to say : “Well, that sounds very dark for you, but I really do not have time for a crisis, because, I ABSOLUTELY need these cat coasters. OR ELSE, I will die!”

I want to say this, but do not, for HR purposes of course.

I tell him that our trip to Vegas next week will cheer him up.

“It is your first time and I know you will love it” I cheerily say to him. He seems a bit perkier and I think now I have done my job in being the supportive manager. And now, thank God, I can get back to my busy schedule which includes (but is not limited to) eBay bidding and painting my nails.

The week rolls around and we are on that evening flight out of Gatwick. Ed has only slightly cheered up and tells me he got a bit of money from his dead granny, a total of £6K.

IT’s not to be sneezed at he tells me, and he is right. I bite my tongue and I do not mention how this money wouldn’t even buy a nice Chanel but I am expensive and dark like this, not everyone understands my humour.

We arrive in LV and I am exhausted of Ed’s moods which are similar to that of a toddler.

Very excited one moment, next crying about the dead Granny, (who’s name I have found out was Phillis) or mindlessly shoving chips in his mouth while staring out the window at nothing really at all.

At check in, I notice he picks up a Strip club ‘flyer’. He tells me he has never been to a strip club before.

So, being the great manager I am, I did what any other manager would do, and I took him to Spearmint Rhino.

We head to the ‘club’ and I buy him a few dances. Beyond my cat coaster, I can be nice like that.

I also need him to be focused for business tomorrow and not be crying about the old Phillis.

Maybe this makes me a psychopath. But I really do have a business to run.

It is nearing midnight, it is time to go.

Come of Ed, I encourage him, we need to get going. It is getting late now and I can see that he is enjoying himself way too much. I can see the animal in his eye, we have gone too far. I know it. I have seen that look on men way too many times. It’s when you know any sense has left the building.

I am worrying about the HUSTLER wannabees (watch the film) – I can see them in the club and I know they are waiting until Ed gets to vodka number 6 and loses his dignity and sense of self. He barely has any facial hair and still struggles with a bit of acne. I can’t help but wonder why Phyllis did not assist her Grandson in getting on some Rocutane (like the rest of us).

SHUT UP BRAIN.

“I do not want to go home now” he tells me. He is firm about it that he is having THE BEST TIME.

This is after work hours, I cannot tell a grown man what to do.

I decide to cut my losses with my spotty-baby employee.

I ask him if he is 100% sure that he wants to left at the club. I warn him to ‘keep it together’ and I try to word it well enough  as to be sensitive to male fragility and not overtly bossy.

Always the male ego.

And of course, he is a man, knows better and doesn’t listen.

I take myself back to our hotel and tuck myself into bed.

I think for a moment about Ed’s inevitable fate at the club then I realise I don’t really care too much and head home to get onto my favourite part of the evening, where I mix a Xanax, Inderal and sleeping tablet. I wash it down with some chamomile tea and tuck myself into my bed while watching American infomercials which somehow I am obsessed with.

I fell asleep just as I was contemplating calling the infomercial HOT LINE to tell them I want to buy the frog shaped vase which the lady on the TV is selling. Her hair is quaffed up, brown and golden, it doesn’t move with her head. My sleeping tablet induced hallucination (the best part) makes me think she resembles a talking acorn.

Lovely.

At 6 am I am woken up by some aggressive and frantic knocking at my door.

I am not impressed as I was dreaming about various men in my kitchen. One was unpacking the dishwasher, another was cooking and another was painting my toe nails.

How it should be, I sigh as I clamber out of bed.

Its Ed, at the door. He looks like hell.

What makes it worse, is he is crying.

God.

Inbetween sobs, he is wailing ‘granny <insert sob here> and ‘oh no no’ <insert sob>

I understand through his sobs that is not in fact not that emotional annoying drunk (and can I say, thank God, we all know those ones, especially the ‘ugly’ G&T criers. It’s enough to make Kim Kardasians ugly cry look like a make over)

I digress down memory lane about the emotional drunks, but I discover he has received a large bill at Spearmint Rhino

I ask him how much is ‘large’?

And “how many dances did you get, exactly Ed?”

He said he lost count as he thought the dancer loved him and he wanted to marry her.

Apparently she said no to his marriage proposal. (Oh the male ego! Whatever will we do?)

“But I was in love with her” he sequels through tears.

“How did you pay the bill Ed?” I ask nervously. I am not interested in the very romantic proposal at the club last night.I am worrying I will open my emails and see an angry message from finance about ‘unusual spending’ and the classic ‘you think you are Beyonce’ message arrive in my inbox from my Boss (this happened the last time because I spent 30 EURO on breakfast- it was an outrage).

“Phillis!” he cries.

“I had to use my dead Granny’s money to pay the bill. I had to call my mum to ask for the transfer”

He wails.

I laugh.

It’s a cruel world.

Made crueler by the fact that FYI I did not get my cat coasters.