Why Don't I Shut UP?

Its that time of year folks. Time for the event that ensures rabid watercooler banter for at least the next 2 or 3 months. The Office Christmas Party. Now, if you work for one of those cheap-ass companies that has their party during work hours...where folks bring in bowls of potato salad and sliced ham and 2 liter bottles of RC Cola (cause their too goddamned cheap to buy the real thing aka Coke), then you cant relate to what i'm about to spew on you.

But for everyone else, you know what i'm talking about. Once a year you and your co-workers get dressed up in your finest slacks, ties, and dresses, and converge upon a focal point. Sometimes its a nice hotel or a firehall or your big bosses house...but either way you get dressed up and comb your hair and wash stuff you haven't washed in a while. This is the first puzzling part to me. These are folks you work with all the time. Day in and day out. So why should you get even MORE dressed up than you do for work. I recommend a Christmas Pajama Party...or better yet a Christmas theme party where we all dress up like NBA players and have a huge punch up around the dessert table.

I am a huge supporter of this form of company Christmas party. Keep in mind, if my boss came to me and said we were having one of those lame inter-office christmas parties, I'd pull a McGuyver and make a bomb out of white-out and the secretaries potato salad and blow everyone to Oregon.

Why am I a huge supporter of the extra-curricular Christmas party? It's like this. For one night of the year everyone is on the same level. Picture, if you will, all the employees of your company standing in a line. Everyone...your company president down to the girl who empties the trash cans at night. Everyone is standing at that line at the beginning of the night and they're all in that Olympic Track Sprinter stance like they're getting ready to haul ass down the track. Only instead of a gun shot to get them off the block they hear this:

"The Bar is Open...and its Free."

KA-POW....AND THEY'RE OFF!

And you can pretty much judge who is going to be ruling the party by the time the night draws to a close. If you're ten minutes into open bar and you have more empty glasses in front of you than the dishwasher at Denny's, you know you're at the right table.

And I'm being serious about everyone being at the same level. You don't believe me? Go up to that staunch VP or CEO of your company at the beginning of the night and say hello. Yeah, you'll get the formal "Hello...glad you could make it..."

But go up to him after you've just had a tequila shooting contest with him and suddenly you start to get the feeling that you could take over his job through a decision-making process as simple as arm-wrestling or break dancing. Cause lets face it...when we're drunk, we're all super dancers and nobody can tell us different.

The greatest/worst thing (depending on the time you're recalling) about the party is there is always one guy who is determined to make this party a hit. And we will call him the bootlegger. Because he will be the guy slamming booze down everyone's throats in an endless supply. Good thing about Bootlegger is that he usually cover's the tips for the bartender as well....this is the man who, during the party, is virtually wearing a huge red S on his chest. Of course, the next day you'd put a fork in his eye if you knew where he lived....

I'm telling you, these parties rock. You get to see asses shaking that you normally wouldn't witness. People you barely know will tell you they love you. Food will be eaten, beverage will be consumed (and returned in various forms). It gives you that mental image to work with. Take it one step further...take a pointer from your ole' Uncle Wit....bring a camera. Or one better...one of those sneaky cellphones with the camera built in. Because sooner or later, someone's ass is coming out and you need that picture...you need it!

So in April when your boss is riding your ass over some stupid report you screwed up cause you were too busy pulling the lint out from under your toe nails, you can whip out the photo of him and the lunch lady doing the cha-cha with christmas hats on.

And then of course, the drive home is followed by some creative barfing or in my case, late-night phone calls to friends in different time zones. And i can truly say, no matter how big the hang-over is, it was worth it to watch your CEO singe Neil Diamond karaoke and end the song with an emphasizing burp.

posted by Michael Witmer @ Tuesday, December 14, 2004