I mean, how big was Goliath really?

When it comes to anecdotes, size matters.

Most male conversation has nothing to do with getting to know each other, but rather a verbal Ping-Pong game of one-upmanship.

Or maybe not Ping-Pong, as this game is best played standing around an open flame arranging boerewors and burgers on a grid (male conversation, I mean, not Ping-Pong).

Maybe it’s more like passing a rugby ball around during practice, the ball managing to get bigger and more complex as it travels…that’s if we’re sticking with the sports metaphor.

In fact, gross embellishment is such a given when shooting the shit with friends that any denomination has to be blown up in order not to sound pathetically insignificant. If you really did drink twelve beers before vomiting on the rollercoaster you’ve got to at least double it or the twelve will be automatically reduced to maybe four in the listener’s mind.

This expectation of exaggeration is involuntary; and this doubt is a defence mechanism. We’ve all heard the telling of events that we were present for, and heard the variables involved grow exponentially in outrageousity, that we can’t help mentally shrinking a big fish into a tadpole.

However, anecdotes that can almost always be taken at face value will involve the teller’s reminiscence of a restaurant they once worked at.

There is nothing too disgusting, bizarre or unbelievable that couldn’t have happened in a place where people eat food and get drunk.

One of my favourite involves a manager at an Irish pub getting a blowjob in the storeroom from a waitress, then walking through the establishment greeting and chatting to regulars. After making his way through the tables he got to the bar and the barman pointed out that his fly was open and his cock was hanging out.

100% true.

Another all-time best involves a couple having a post-bender breakfast. One has to assume they’d not returned home and were still blatted on whatever substances they’d consumed.

After ordering bacon and eggs the girl disappeared into the toilet for a long time. When the manageress started getting a bit worried at the length of her absence, and banging on the door elicited no response, they busted in to find the girl fallen off the throne with her pants around her ankles.

But it doesn’t end there. She’d been up-chucking in the dustin as she passed out, and the floor and her chin were covered in it.

Also, along with vomiting, the poor girl was in the process of… how can I put this? Dropping anchor? Laying some cable? Releasing a chocolate frog into the wild?

It was a mess.

And then after they’d cleaned it all up and the couple had left, the guy returned later in an attempt to book a table for later that evening; presumably with his girlfriend.

Needless to say, he was politely told to fuck off.

There are some stories that don’t need any embellishment, but if you’re a guy you probably wouldn’t believe them.

I forgive you. It’s not your fault.