My newfound stilt phobia

So, um. Yes. Love my work mates. I consider myself very lucky to get to pop out for coffee in the company of such fine, upstanding, smart (hot) gentlemen. Today one of them said, “Hey, they’re giving away free $25 Sony gift certificates. I got one at lunch: we should go over there”. Go we did.
I started to get nervous when I saw all the people on stilts. Stilts are neat. And by neat I mean terrifying. A local radio station was there as well, and they had the music cranked up so loud that we sort of bypassed the people handing out free stuff to seek out a quiet corner to plot our strategy.
Then the Robot Liberator just went for it. He walked over there and claimed his prize. Emboldened by his brazenness, me and my two co-conspirators followed. That’s when it all went awry.
I was the last person to be awarded a gift certificate. This is akin to being picked last for soccer which happened to me every goddamn day in Grade 6 and 7. Teachers that do stuff like that are fuckers. Anyways, one of the guys handing them out decided that he wanted me to perform that 80’s dance move “the wave” like what one of the stilt people was doing. I politely declined, smiling. But he insisted. And people started to gather. And more people insisted. And then the stilt guy ran over and started dancing in front of me and encouraging me as I looked up, up at him and willed him silently to stop. And my coworkers kindly pointed out that my face was totally red. And then people suggested that, instead of doing the wave, I could instead give a little booty shake. Cause I’m all about the booty shake. Yeah. Really. When I’m waiting for the seabus, I’m doing the booty shake. I sometimes stand up when we’re halfway across the water, give a little booty shake and then sit down again. Cause that’s how I roll, man.
After this continued on for what seemed like 96 minutes, I tried to hide behind one of my coworkers who is very tall. And who would not let me hide behind him. Eventually everyone gave up because it was becoming evident that I wasn’t drunk enough to perform any of the party tricks necessary to make them happy (this is why I never made it as a stripper). Finally, when I was on the verge of tears, the guy gave me $50 worth of gift certificates and told me I was a reluctant whore. Okay, maybe not all of the last sentence is true.
Yeah. So that’s how you start out going for coffee and end up being publicly humiliated in front of your work mates by someone on stilts.
I hate when that happens.