Okay, first of all, is it more relaxing to look at the page with the side bar back on the right where it belongs? I know I spend almost no time looking at the Home Page here, but the side bar on the left was making my eyelid twitch.
With one thing (“the play”…right up until I ran out of gas coming home from the cast party) and another (the alternator belt on the other car broke, so we are temporarily a one car family), and another (my freaking doctor will not pay attention to me) I really haven’t started to feel very festive.
There is a big clock ticking. It is the countdown. To. The. Office. Christmas. Party.
In the best of times, this is a fiasco. It has no relationship to general job satisfaction. Lowlights of past years include, but are not limited to:
–the co-worker’s wife in the “sweatshirt-dress with-appliquee-kittens-in-Santa-hats-outlined-with-glitter-glue” dress, who got so drunk she couldn’t sit up. Loudly talking throughout the whole “dirty Santa” torture. Trying to keep the dress from riding up as she slid off the sofa. …Later that year, burned her house; blamed her dog. (First firm out of college, 1996)
–the boss’ wife who sang the Star-Spangled banner along with the recording of Whitney Houston from the Super Bowl. Again and again. …Her husband later paid Christmas bonuses out of his wallet. Everyone who was there at 4:00p.m. on Christmas Eve got one. That’s right, they’re doin’ it for the Andrews. (Second Firm 2001)
–The third firm Mickey worked for was repeatedly voted best workplace in [Major] City. Didn’t have holiday parties because they didn’t want to offend those who didn’t celebrate Hannukah, Chanukah, Christmas, Winter Solstice or Kwanzaa. However, someone repeatedly ate Mickey’s plate of holiday leftovers.
–Another co-worker’s wife who drunkenly insisted that I was wrong and that I did know a man she worked with and had in fact entertained him as a guest in my home. (Which was not really a Christmas Party thing. She did it every time I saw her. But, Gah!!! After the third time, drunk or sober, give up.) …Her husband later was fired for dishonesty. (Current firm)
–For the last five years, we have been treated to the cheapest and most convenient celebration for the owner of the firm. Which, for three consecutive years, included going to his house in another town. We are expected to be on time; the office closes at 5:30. The party starts at 6:00. There are plenty of alcoholic beverages and soft drinks, but no appetizers. So if you want you can be completely full and have all the calories you need for the week by the time the dinner bell gets rung. The menu is more or less randomly assembled and has included deer sausage from his own hunt. (Spring for some Hickory Farms.) Once we traveled in a weather advisory.
Some of the people who work for this firm get together after hours and hang out. Most of us don’t. There are nine(9) total people in the firm. What I am saying is…why do we call it a party if:
a) we have no choice?
b) it is with people who, by mutual agreement we wouldn’t socialize with otherwise?
3) we have to play “dirty Santa”?
Gotta go search for a way out.
Quick! Tell me a story that will make me feel better about having to go to this party.