It was with some misgivings that I departed the regular workaday world a few years ago. Misgivings that revolved around getting a regular salary and feeling that I had ‘a place’ in the wider universe. That is, I had an identity and how we are perceived depends on what we do, and in what regard our calling is held.
Well, I was a working journalist and in the total scheme-of-occupations journalists place lower than contract killers in public esteem. Well, I mean, not as low as some ambulance-chasing lawyers or internal revenue auditors but getting right down in the direction of barrel-bottom scraping.
I actually didn’t mind that aspect of my life-career – indeed I took a certain perverse pride in being regarded as a societal weasel.
Nevertheless, I moved on to the private ‘Ian’ domain and all-in-all it hasn’t been a bad thing. And this time of the year I am profoundly reminded that there one huge and cherished benefit to being self-semi-sporadically-depending-on-the-whims-of-unappreciative-contractors-employed and that is the sheer knowledge that I will never again have to go to a @#$$%&& CHRISTMAS OFFICE PARTY! Sing Halleluja!
Who thought of those things, anyway? What corporate mind conceived that such a contrived social gathering would be good? I think if the so-called ‘Occupiers’ had wanted to protest anything, it should have been office parties.
Any office of any substance invariably has its ‘social committee’. These are the misguided souls who honestly believe that if you work with somebody, you also want to spend your leisure hours with them; you want to get pissed with them; you want to sing-and-dance with them; you want to harbor unacceptable sexual fantasies about them and maybe even feel compelled to suggestively act upon them; and finally you want to spend the rest of your weekend either retching or apologizing to your better-half and assuring her you didn’t mean anything when you were cavorting lewdly with l’il Suzie Homerekker from reception who, in a poor light looks a bit like a less-healthy Lindsay Lohan.
Social Committees are composed of the same people that exult over the concept of high school reunions and make sure they become part of the planning committee at least four years before the ghastly event is scheduled to take place.
What are the bad things about office parties?
– false bonhomie amongst people who, while they may have dear friends amongst their colleagues, they also spend 9-5, five days a week, with others who would not have been chosen as friends and they are happy to see the last of come Friday quitting time.
– Excess alcohol both loosens tongues and liberates libidos. Nuff sed.
– He/she has no hidden and untapped desire to sleep with you and is merely a friendly colleague. An office party should not be regarded as a potential ‘orifice’ party.
– It’s never a good time to tell your boss what you really think, despite how friendly he might seem to be on this social occasion. Unless he/she is your friend, he/she is emphatically ‘not’ your friend when it comes to any sort of crunch time.
– If you do happen to be a boss of either sex don’t, emphatically don’t try to pull any of that “if you want to get ahead here maybe we could form a closer relationship” shit with an opposite sex subordinate.
– And if you are a subordinate, don’t try to pull the same thing with q superior in the hopes of getting ahead.
– Karaoke!!!! Gaah!
The good thing about office parties?
– I don’t have to go to them any more.