When Photos Are All That Remain

Nights out can often be a bit blurry to downright absent in the memory bank depending on the extremity of alcoholic intake. Luckily…or more often unluckily, we now have a ready supply of digital cameras tucked in our back pockets and blackberries in hand to always catch that oh so picturesque moment of the belligerent drunk making an ass out of himself. “That will look good on Facebook” we think to ourselves. And that grotesque figure of the previous night, the one you left before you sobered up to spare yourself the horrible misery of knowing the mistake you made…Well you’ll see her regretful face next to yours in a conveniently tagged photo of yourself. Of course the caption will resemble something like "Matt and the mother of his children!" Funny enough though, none of these awkward, potentially embarrassing situations, ever really bothered me much. What’s at stake there? A few jokes at your expense and some phone calls you won’t be returning? I practically live in a world laughing at my expense and I rarely have my own phone calls returned. Nope, what does worry me though is when I think I’m harmlessly going out for drinks with those pesky co workers only to run 3 Margaritas in and have that outrageous engagement party behind me teaming up for pictures with yours truly just as the guy that sits two cubes down unleashes his blackberry and turns the dinner into a photo shoot. Even that though is not entirely out of the ordinary…I’ve lived with a male model for the last 4 years so I’m no stranger to impromptu photo shoots. It was the moment he yelled, “Hey Matt, I just sent these photos to everyone in the office! You and your soul mate!” that I became unsettled. I laughed at the time, on the outside… inside though I cringed not with embarrassment but with a previously unknown fear of losing my job. It is beyond question that I have begun to let my guard down since my nervous first day in a suit and short, tidy hair. My hair, now covering my ears and forehead, not to mention the unkempt curls in the back is beginning its transformation from professional to unconventional at best. My dress, once primed and uncreased is now recycled from week to week as I no longer make any effort to ensure my clothes are in acceptable order. I’m boisterous and jovial in the office still unsure to my reception with the more senior of management I at least enjoy great conversation with those closer to my level, the fellow cubies. The subject of drunken rampaging a la photos from said coworker however, is not the topic of conversation I’d like to headline. I’d much rather prefer my usual low key answers about just relaxing in, or going home to a potentially embarrassing rendition of my “dirty dancing” with that 30 year old in the cocktail dress. These stories I can leave for those urging for excitement within the office walls. Myself? I’d prefer my excitement to be kept outside of the work place…miles and miles away where word of my sins could only reach as an unintelligible whisper of the wind.