Depending on your office, the annual staff Christmas Party will either be a God Send or a night orchestrated by Satan himself. However, both are just as dangerous as each other, due to the fact that most office parties are booze laden. Bring on the over sharing, the dodgy dance floor moves and the beer goggles saved for the likes of Sharon from HR (who is married) or Kevin from Tech (who definitely will never get married).
Most of us love a good party, however there is a staggering difference from partying with your friends and partying with your colleagues. Your friends won’t think of you as a leper in the morning, despite the fact you embraced your alter ego as the night progressed, going from ‘Joseph, on Business Analytics’ to ‘Big Jo’, on ‘Everything with a Pulse’. It does not make for good viewing, however the only saving grace you MIGHT have, is that everyone is as shit faced as you.
So once the first few drinks are under way, the natural progression leads to one of two initial places.
Exhibit A) The Smoking Area
Exhibit B) The Dance Floor
Let’s start with Exhibit A. For starters, you don’t even smoke, but tonight you’ve been seemingly chain-‐smoking since birth. You go with the regulars, the social smokers and the fake smokers (you) and this is where the conversation really starts to flow. Every person who has held a grudge or grievance against pretty much anyone who ever entered the office lets rip into exactly just what they think about said person. This is where the secrets roll out. At first slowly one by one before suddenly everyone is trying to get their word in at break neck speed. There are unanimous head nods, as yes, Gareth from third floor does take up too much shelf room in the fridge. And yes, Cindy’s boyfriend does look young enough to be her son. And finally, yes we have all thought about photo copying our genitals and pinning them on the staff pin board.
So, having smoked enough cigarette’s to ensure we will never smoke again, its time to hit Exhibit B.
You enter the zone, confident as ever. What you have been concealing from your colleagues all year long is that you are in fact a magnificent dancer. You notice there is already one cocky guy on the dance floor seemingly ‘owning it’ but you shake your head. Have you seen me own this?!
Confident that you have consumed as much as the open bar as possible, you quite literally shimmy onto the dance floor, bum shuffling the cocky sod out the way (amateur). As your moves flit between a white dad dancing at a BBQ to a stripper with her rent due in tomorrow, you start pumping your fist at the DJ.
‘THIS IS MY JAM’ you will roar, not giving two shits that you’re ruining any credibility that you ever had, as the whole office now knows that ‘your jam’ is Flow Rida’s ‘Blow My Whistle Baby’.
IF the night could end there, we would all rejoice. Boozy, with some dubious song choices, but all in all OK. But alas, no. The beer goggles are firmly cemented on and with your newfound Dutch courage, you decide you could literally have your pick of the broads! In all honesty, it’s whoever comes into your initial blurry-eyed provisional vision. It’s thankfully not Sharon from HR, but still the person you tend to canoodle with at the end of a Christmas party is usually pretty suspect. BUT before the two of you leave the premises, you ensure just about everyone has witnessed the ‘coming together of your souls’-quite literally you become so entwined it is hard to decipher just who is who. A grim site if there ever was one.
The next morning you have to make the commute with your new lady friend from last night. Minus the booze and in the cold light of day, you realize your choice was very suspect indeed. What is more, you can guarantee you will be the source of office gossip. However, do not fret because
- There will always be someone who faired worse than you
- You have a whole year to redeem yourself
- You got laid (however this is not always a good thing…big up to anyone who went home with Kevin from Tech)
So whilst the Staff Christmas Party is a jolly affair, it is also a recipe for disaster.
Good Luck Merry Men and Women.