THE OFFICE CHRISTMAS PARTY

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (12-27-18)

      I went to the office Christmas party last week in Studio 41 at the television network where I work. They had the room all dolled up with intricate lighting and a sound system. There was a nice crowd there, many sporting Christmas sweaters depicting ugly reindeer, ugly Santas and ugly snowmen, none having their finest moments. I made the rounds with my crew from the Operations 

department, and we infiltrated other tables, hijacked small talk and expropriated conversations. 

      The week before the party the company released a training module about sexual harassment that everyone had to complete. The timing was interesting, for what office party of yesteryear could live in infamy without deplorable conduct? It's not the kind of idea that I would ever entertain, although I can be quite entertaining to all sorts of other ideas. And thankfully I haven't noticed a whole lot of sexual harassment in my 38-year career at the network, despite its popularity at the moment. Aside from actual crimes, revisiting entire past histories of behavior that existed in a different social context may not be a productive way to spend our time, when we could be deciding whether dirty jokes are still acceptable. My guess is that it depends on how funny the joke is. Probably the saltiest thing anyone ever said in my presence at work came out of a small anchorwoman whose name you'd probably know. But I wonder if those training modules offer a how-to course for people who otherwise might not have had any working skills at all on the subject. "Jason continued to insinuate that a one-on-one meeting in his hot tub could advance Dawn's career, even though she had made it obvious that she wasn't interested by saying, 'Seriously????' Should she have a.) Reported him to a Human Resources representative; b.) Told her supervisor about it; or c.) Said 'Seriously????' louder, so the whole room could hear it?" I completed the training module but I didn't get all the questions right, so I guess we all have some work to do.

 

      As titillating as all the recent salacious allegations are- and if I even use the word "titillating" I'm taking a chance- I have more important issues at the office Christmas party. I'm trying to find the chicken Francaise at the steam tables. I know it's got to be here somewhere. The food looks pretty good in the low light where you can't analyze things too carefully. Someone mentions that there is a carving station in the corner. I went over there to see for myself, but it was just one of the cafeteria ladies slicing a roast beef. I guess I was expecting something more, like maybe scrimshaw or a totem pole.

      I walk past the sushi table, and I can't imagine sushi at a Christmas party for some reason. My wife recently said that she had a sushi sandwich, which I found fascinating. You could make a sandwich out of anything, I guess. Could you make a pizza sandwich? Could you make a soup sandwich? A salad sandwich? What about a sandwich with another sandwich inside? I finally found the chicken Francaise, and then I had to go to the other side of the studio to get a drink. On the way I wondered if I could make a sandwich out of my chicken Francaise.

      If you hang around the bar long enough, you can get a good idea of what's in store for the rest of the party and from whom. On the other hand, if you hang around the bar long enough your own reputation may suffer. I don't drink a drop during the week, not even a tiny drop, so I start to place bets with myself on who's going to dominate the conversation tomorrow.

     They have a guy who sings old Bobby Darin songs and other stuff from the 50s and 60s, and he was in fine form. He's got a lounge-singer routine with a lot of pointing, clapping, finger snapping and yelling "HEY!" in the middle of a verse if the verse starts to dull up on you. He's got a whole stage rap that revolves around his cousin, who allegedly played with Frankie Valle or something back in the day. The music wasn't overly loud but his jacket was. After 10 or 12 songs that sounded like "Runaround Sue" he turned things over to the DJ, who announced that he had a karaoke machine. 

     People were starting to get a little bolder, and employees who never knew they could sing gave the rest of us the opportunity to never know it also. A gal from Audience Services got up and sang a Salt-N-Pepa song, not too bad. She didn't sound like Salt, and she didn't sound like Pepa, but she did sound like N, I guess. Then a group of about 15 IT workers got up and sang what must have been the Indian version of "Paradise By the Dashboard Light." They were really working it and having a great old time, and I wondered if, a.) the karaoke machine actually knew Hindi, and if, b.) this wouldn't be a great time to hack into the payroll department.

 

     There was a photo booth with a lot of props and costume items available so that you could really dress up a future extortion attempt. These days you have to be careful and take ownership of your own content, including which photos are taken of you. One Halloween I went to three parties dressed as "Miss Universe," with a blue dress (size 16 in case you're wondering- Christmas is coming up), big boobs and a sash and tiara, only I was from another planet in the Universe, not from Earth, so I had antennae and other alien accessories. Everybody took a picture with me. But fast-forwarding ahead, what if I turn out to be the last candidate left to be Trump's Chief of Staff, and these photos come out in the Globe and my political career is ruined because Trump insists that I was not born in the United States or even on Earth? So I didn't take any snapshots in the photo booth with a pirate hat and oversize glasses, although I do need new glasses. 

     I'd like to wish everyone a very Happy Holiday!