When I think of Christmas time in New York City, several things come to mind. The Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree, The Rockettes, the smell of roasting peanuts from street corner vendors, tourists taking pictures in front of 5th Ave shops, and of course…the annual office Christmas party.
Every year companies all over the city cut loose and throw an annual bash at a pre-decided location, complete with enough food and booze to satisfy the Russian army. Granted, a number of companies have scaled back or canceled celebrations this year due to the economic downturn, but still others (like my company) have carried the torch and thought of new and exciting ways to say “thank you for slaving away the past year…”
Last night, our celebration was held across the street from our offices at a newly purchased office space which will soon house the Interactive arm of our company. Definitely not a throwback to the crazy 1980s-wall street, cocaine driven parties of yester year, but still a downright debauchery-fest that would make even the boys from Motley Crue say “dear God, this is heavy…”
While still an unfinished space, the walls were painted with festive images, artwork submitted from various groups within the company adorned much of the layout. Since it was an office, there were various rooms which had certain themes. One housed the bar, a kitchen, a lounge, a room with a Nintendo Wii, a room for picture taking, and of course…a dance room (more on that in a bit).
I’m pretty friendly with everyone I work with and easily approachable to those I don’t know within the office. But I’ve always been amazed at how alcohol affects certain people. Case in point, there is a woman who works here who used to sit in the office DIRECTLY NEXT to mine. In no uncertain terms, this woman is a piece of work. Loud, obnoxious, filthy mouthed, annoying, person. She’s prone to slamming her door, cursing out her team members and downright cutting people beneath her down. I know what you’re thinking, “Matt this sounds like your dream girl…”
For 2 years, we’ve never, ever exchanged greetings, salutations, head nods or even a pleasant “go fuck yourself.” Two…Years. And she sits directly next to me. It’s clear we have an unspoken, yet widely noticeable hatred towards each other.
We talked for nearly 25 mins last night. The magic of Alcohol.
Now, being a semi-guido esqe young professional from Long Island I’ve been known to throwndown on the dancefloor from time to time. However, I usually refrain from any type of behavior that would be deemed unprofessional among my work peers. But sometimes after Sam Adams and Stella Artois come knocking on your door, they sway you into thinking that everything you say is hilarious and you’re better on your feet than Fred Astaire ever was.
When the beer ran out, we passed around bottles of red wine, as if we workers on a pirate ship that had just looted an artist colony. When the music turned to reggae, our dance moved resembled something you’d see on Soul Train circa 1994. When it switched back to hip hop, everyone transformed into the slickest MC this side of J-HOVA. When AC/DC made an appearance, head banging and rock screaming shook the building to its core. And when the last record was spun, the remaining soldiers gathered for a heartfelt kickline followed by an embrace that rivaled winning the World Series.
And today, wounded, glassy eyed, semi-conscious young professionals braved the cold weather to make it back into the office to turn tricks for man. Another holiday party in the books.
You spend more time with your coworkers then you do with your immediate family. When you have the opportunity to pound free hooch and lose your mind on the dancefloor, it somehow makes those 9-5s worth it. Merry Christmas.
-Matt
It’s a classic. It’s entertaining. It’s one of the first superhero stories ever written. Set during the French Revolution.
