I used to work for a literary agent. The first year I was there we held our christmas party in our tiny offices where we served industrial strength champagne cocktails and dodgy quails egg canapes. Needless to say I got wasted, towards the end realised things were taking a turn for the worse so I quietly sneaked off outside to offload in the gutter. Mid-retch I sensed a male presence asking if I was all right. With my drunken logic I assumed it was a sinister stranger with bad intentions, so I told him to f*** off. Unfortunately he was one of our top clients. Luckily he saw the funny side.