Each year it falls on me to coordinate the office Christmas party. This year, my spirit is broken enough that I’d just as soon slit my own wrists with a rusty earring than attempt this exercise in futility.
Here’s the thing, I work with these assholes, the last thing I want to do is plan a party that I’ll have to suffer through. Keep in mind I will not get useful feedback from anyone, I will not get a thank you from anyone, and each idea I pitch will be met with criticism. Did I forget to mention that my boss is a cheap prick and I’m on a budget that closely resembles that of a college student living off Top Ramen?
I want to care about morale. I want to believe that the guys in the office work hard and deserve a reward for all they’ve done over the course of the year, but the reality is, I just don’t. That ship sailed a long fucking time ago. The truth is, I work with 6 dudes who wouldn’t remember how to replenish toilet paper and basic supplies if not for me, or some other underpaid, moderately attractive woman in my place.
Let me put it in some perspective for you, dear reader. Last year we went bowling. We settled on bowling at the very last minute because all the other ideas that I pitched were drop-kicked into the wastebasket. There was a dinner cruise idea. That apparently was too pricey and too cold, per the boss. It didn’t matter one iota that the rest of the crew were into it. Oh, and wives were to be excluded from the event.
There are 7 of us total in the office. If you include wives and/or significant others it would bring the total for festivities to 14; not exactly a bank breaker. We’re not Wall Street, but we’re certainly not a fucking start-up either. The youngest member of the team, aside from me, has been here for 14 years. I think we can fork out a little extra for the wives even if Mark’s is a massive buzzkill. As it turned out, I made sure to wear socks that day and brought my own hand sanitizer because we were going bowling!
If I recall correctly, eating at the alley was frowned upon because the food was expensive. Booze was okay though. My boss has a habit of getting sauced and annoying. Normally I would relish the opportunity to record this kind of behavior and circulate it around the office for weeks to come just for fun at his expense, but every second I spent there was another I was certain I was closer to owning my very own orange jumpsuit. Even as I type this, I am stricken with anxiety about the upcoming holiday.
Today my boss asked, “What are we going to do for the holiday party?” I have ideas. We can go ice skating as an office. I would love to see my grumpy, old, conservative co-workers flail about on ice skates. I’d love it even more if they fell. It’s like watching little kids eat shit on their bikes, but so much better. It’s 4 yrs. of “Do you know where the toner is?” It’s 4 yrs. of “Christina, why isn’t the printer printing?” And my personal favorite, “Where did my toolbar go?” I hope they all fall.
I thought about a murder-mystery room or one of those escape rooms. I quickly decided I didn’t want to be stuck in a room for any length of time with these guys that I wasn’t getting paid for. Back to square one, slitting my wrists.
I don’t have insurance where I work (cheap boss) and Covered California (which I pay for) isn’t super wonderful, so I can’t really afford to take any chances with this option yet either. My best recourse is to pretend that I’ve suffered some form of brain damage, probably temporary, while installing Christmas lights. This will render me incapable of managing the task I’ve been assigned. If I can point to toner and handle menial tasks my cover here won’t be blown. It should also allow me to keep conversation to a minimal. In this fashion, I should be able to keep from throat punching Leo or ripping out Mark’s eyes. It’s a win-win situation.
Who will plan Christmas? I don’t give a single, solitary, fuck. Not one. I hope Mark’s wife is a noodge. I hope she monitors his beer intake with raised eyebrows and makes everyone uncomfortable. I hope Leo’s wife complains about the menu again and how nothing says, “free-range” and then refuses to eat but tries to do it casually with forced laughter. I hope Sam gets belligerent drunk with Sean again and forces people dining at nearby tables to stare and feel pity. Craig and Rick are the self-respecting ones, I kinda like them. Their wives don’t suck either. Still not enough to make it worth my while to plan this shit-tastic holiday event. I’d rather shave my asshole with a daisy razor.
On that visual note, I hope all your holiday planning and events go smoothly and are more fulfilling than mine. Merry fucking Christmas!