There sure is a lot of grumpiness about company holiday parties. Seems that the good old days where people could get all liquored up on the boss’s dime, and then provide company lore to be shared year after year, have gone by the wayside.
Companies now limit alcohol intake through some artificial method, usually involving tickets.
They would always have an open bar, and everyone would get schnockered, even (especially) the partners. And then January would come, and the bill would arrive, and my boss would go completely apeshit and start reading us all the riot act. Who the fuck drank all this? How many drinks did YOU have? How about your husband? Who ordered all this top shelf shit? Goddammit!
See, that’s how a company gets traditions and reputations are earned. Legends are born or created.
They can get out of control however:
A Harnett County jury has been told to return to court on Monday to continue deliberations in the trial of a woman charged with castrating a man at a Christmas party.
But not everyone dreads the Christmas party. Until the day of the party.
When we first receive the invitation in the mail, I’m drawn in, eager, excited. A chance to mingle! With grown-ups! Who are not my spouse! Who might not have children; think of it! I close my eyes and conjure up men laughing their baritone laughs punctuated by the harmoniously higher pitched and lilting laughs of women.
My daughter was whining about how lame SIL’s company holiday party is now. She use to work at the same place before the liquor limitations were put in place. She still recalls the stories from that bygone era. This year, they were home by 8:30.
Well, I got that beat.
I have something even more difficult to deal with. Attending a college graduation party of the daughter of Nancy’s friend.
Christmas Party: All adults, one of you knows a lot of the people, few relatives, it’s at night, liquor is served.
Daughter of Friend’s Graduation Party: Young kids, college kids who looked like high school kids, we knew four people, everybody was related to somebody else, it’s the middle of the afternoon, and no liquor.
Here’s the deal: Blended families are a bitch for the uninitiated. Blair is a cute kindergartner. Nancy knew Blair because she and her friend had taken Blair shopping with them one time.
Blair is the graduate’s boyfriend’s daughter. I made a comment to the man I thought was Blair’s dad, who turned out to be her grandfather. It was at that point I quit talking to anybody but the dogs.
Cousin’s twice removed? Today you have to deal with step-cousin’s daughter’s girlfriend and a surrogate Mom.
I think I’ll take a Christmas Party anyday.