Every year it’s the same thing … the ad agency I work for holds one helluva holiday party. It’s a no-hold- barred smackdown, always tastefully decadent and extravagant. Inevitably, someone will make a fool out of his/herself. And it’s delightful to watch, really. A thing to behold.
There was the alleged bra-in-the-punchbowl incident one year. And the girl who drunkenly toppled out of her shoes and knocked over the DJ’s speakers. And who could forget the guy who exorcist-vomited red wine all over a girl in a white sparkly pant suit? (That was, by far, my fave. Who wears winter white after Labor Day? Sheesh!)
It’s a scary world out there. Especially if you do something to sow the wrath of upper management. This year I wrote a “Top 5 List of Do’s & Don’ts” to be included in the newsletter, mainly because I work with a copious amount of immature 20-somethings. Here’s my list:
1) Just because alcohol flows freely does not mean you should feel the need to personally consume ALL of it. And never, ever, ever, ever talk to the CEO after you’ve been drinking. In fact, don’t even make eye contact with him. And just so we’re clear, drinking and Dave’ing is bad. (Dave is the company president.)
2) Your co-workers are not suddenly more attractive the night of the holiday party. You’ve been drinking. See Item #1.
3) Choose your holiday ensemble carefully. No one needs to see a wardrobe malfunction. Or spandex. Or taffeta. Or denim. Ever. No, seriously.
4) You puke. You’re cleaning it up. No, seriously. Also see Item #1.
5) Choose your date carefully. Unless you’re actually bound by marriage, there’s nothing in the rule books that says you’re obligated to bring someone. Especially if that someone makes both of you look like jackasses.
This year—inexplicably and miraculously—no one was the butt of anyone’s jokes on Monday morning. (Insert sad face here.) Everyone was on their semi-best behavior. Save for the one guy who always manages to take his shirt off at every event. Yep, I work with THAT guy. And, yep, he once again doffed his shirt and started flexing in the middle of my speech. When he kissed each bicep, the catering manager pulled me aside and said, “So, I take it no one will be eating anymore, right? Can we break down the buffet?”
Indeed, you are correct, ma’am.