Sorry for the late post. Power/Internet outages as far as the eye can see. (Start with "Monday" if you can. There's another snowstorm in the forecast for this afternoon for a good part of the Country. It could be a blizzard. You'd better just curl up in front of the computer in your jammies with bunny slippers and cocoa. Nothing else would be advisable.)
So, what were we talking about? Oh right. Our coworkers who show their true hoochie selves at the company holiday party. Yeah, those who look like they just came in off the street on their way to work... at the corner.
Truthfully, there's a positive side to the nose-diving economy: It's made attending company holiday parties easier for us.
I remember every December, my company used to have a big holiday shindig for all of the employees and their families. It was extremely hard to see all of the little cuties running around all dressed up. But that was then.
The company went from a big evening blow out at a hotel ballroom for the entire family to a dinner with the employees and their spouses at a nice restaurant to coffee cake in the conference room. (I remember thinking one year: "Savor every bite of that coffee cake, Lori. I have a feeling this is not only your holiday party...it's also your bonus.)
So now, the only thing even remotely child-related that I hear at these "functions" is everyone complaining that, due to company cutbacks,they couldn't bring their toddler who eats about thirty cents worth of food.
People dealing with infertility usually dread company holiday events. Someone who just announced her engagement at last year's party, will be pregnant at this one. What if people bring their kids and I'm left to think about another year of that not being me?
In all of our breath-holding before the event, I think we fail to realize that most people, not just the pregnancy-challenged, don't look forward to going--for many good reasons, all of which can be traced back to the beverage being served: Whine made with very sour grapes.
There might be some dopy achievement awards given out. Somehow the person who does the least work and disappears for ten minute breaks every twenty minutes always wins.
The dreaded "Secret Santa". First nobody can agree on whether or not to take the word "Secret" literally. Half the people sign their name on the gift, the other half write "Santa" in a disguised handwriting. Life was simpler when we just called the stinking thing a "grab bag".
Then, to throw further irritation into the joyous tradition, there's a price limit set: Say, twenty dollars. Somebody will throw in a six hundred dollar silver tea set for no apparent reason, someone will toss in an unwrapped plastic mug with a bank logo on it that was handed out at the street fair and call it a day, and somebody won't be bothered bringing in anything and leave someone feeling like Charlie Brown when the presents are open.
The raffle: There will be no bonus this year but there will be one two-day trip to Disney raffled off among the two hundred employees. The employee unofficially voted "The coworker we'd all rather not work with" always wins.
Listen, I gotta go. I've got to see and hear every possible list of the job closings due to the weather. I'll watch and listen until 5PM if I have to...just to be sure. I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.