My boss was walking me back to my hotel in the rain when he told me about a conference he considered a bad one. Several years earlier, he had almost gone home with someone there. It was an odd story to hear at two in the morning, with the bar behind us and my hotel still ahead.
We were away for a week-long conference. I’m 30, he’s 50, and we’re both married. We were staying at different hotels, close enough that meeting for dinner was easy. About every other evening, we ate together, had a few drinks, and talked about the conference. Afterward, we went our separate ways. I walked back by myself.
On the last night, we stayed at a bar until it closed at 2 a.m. We spent most of the evening playing darts and talking, and hung out with some people we met there. One man got a little handsy. I dealt with that quietly and moved on. That wasn’t the part of the evening I found myself trying to work out afterward.
It was raining lightly when we left. Our hotels were close, so we walked anyway. Mine was about five minutes beyond his. This time, instead of heading to his own hotel and leaving me to finish the walk, my boss came with me. On its own, that could have been a considerate thing to do. It was also different from every other night.
Somewhere along the way, he brought up that earlier conference and the person he had nearly gone home with. I don’t remember my exact response. It was something along the lines of saying that sounded like a bad situation. I can remember the substance of what he told me more clearly than whatever I managed to say back.
I’m not upset about the evening. I know I chose to stay out drinking with him, and I’m not trying to erase my part in being there. What caught me was the timing of that particular story. We were both away from home, it was late, and he was walking me to my hotel. Suddenly, an account of another conference seemed to have a possible second meaning.
He might have been sharing an old near-mistake because we had been drinking and talking for hours. He might also have been seeing how I would respond. I couldn’t tell whether he was remembering something or quietly putting an idea between us. Nothing he said, as I remember it, settled that distinction.
Outside my hotel, we lingered for a minute in the rain while we confirmed our plans for the next day. Then I said I should go and went inside. Alarm bells were ringing in my head, but that night I only made a mental note and went to bed. I didn’t really turn it over until the following day.
He was completely normal the next day. That was how the week ended: with him acting as usual. I was the one still thinking about the walk.
