‘So you, uh, still just doing uni then, big man?’ asked the bloke who you once shared a Grade 9 Art class with - who’s name was either James, John, Jamal or George Michael.

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On any other day, had you regrettably locked eyes with this particular old schoolmate out and about, you would’ve given, at the very most, a polite nod of affirmation and a toothless grin. In fact, in most cases, you both would’ve happily agreed to play the game of ‘let’s pretend we don’t recognise each other’.

But, as we all know, sometimes our instincts betray us - sometimes the Pale Ale’s convince our brain to do things that clearly aren’t good ideas. On this occasion, it was to say hello in the drinks line at Ric’s to James/John/Jamal or George Michael - a man who you couldn’t name more than three things about if you’re life depended on it (he played Volleyball at some point?).

This is how that conversation proceeded:

You ask who he’s here with, to which he names three people you’d never heard of.
He asks who you’re here with, to which you think ‘geez, what have I got myself into’.
You mention that you also ran into another guy from school tonight - he clearly has no idea who you’re talking about.
You both agree that Ric’s is ‘a bit shit tonight’.
You ask if he’s still playing Volleyball - he laughs, having clearly not heard what you said.
You panic, and tell the following three lies: ‘sorry, mate, I just need to head to the bathroom, but it’s good to catch up, I’ll see you around’.

More mistakes to come.