Happy Holidaze

A dear friend reveals her plan to deal with her office party this year: “My strategy is to dress as if I'm ready to hit the festivities, and then hightail it to my car when it starts and head home early to snuggle up with a book. This has worked very well in the past and there's no reason it shouldn't today.” I can only applaud the artful little minx since I regard office parties with the enthusiasm I bring to a chance to stand in line at the DMV.

Why do these events even exist? The same people I see every day of the year and don't talk to suddenly take offense that I don't want to go out to lunch with them. I refrain myself from pointing out I don't want to ride in their elevator, let alone party down with them. The whole unspoken allure of these things is the chance to sneak out of work early with management’s semi-blessing. Why not just cut out the overpriced luncheon and turn everybody loose with directions to the nearest liquor store and be done with it?

But no, we have to rev up the holiday fucking spirit. So starting in August, there’s the committee meetings and votes on where to go and picking a theme and then the haranguing starts. “Aren’t you coming? You have to come. Why aren’t you coming?” Because small talk with you is painful. Because I would rather ride around town on the subway for an hour than stand around a no host bar with you. Because I’ve known you for fifteen years and I’m still not convinced that you’re a real woman and not a bad drag queen.

The party this year was once again at the fabulous Presidio Golf Club, which sounds swank, but, unfortunately, houses the locker room for the golf course as well so the first impression that hits you as you walk into the gala festivities is a big whiff of stinky old men. I live and work in San Francisco, a destination famous for its good food and I get to go to a Christmas party where the overpriced chicken smells like dirty socks.

Imagine my delight then when I discovered I had, genuinely and accidentally, double booked myself for that afternoon and promised to lunch with one of the volunteers who teaches classes here for me. What could I do? It would be so rude to bail on her. So sorry, can’t make the party, so sorry, work commitments, you know how it is, so sorry, you guys have a good time without me, so sorry. It was a lovely lunch, I had quiche, plenty of my colleagues were bitter that I got out of it and suddenly I couldn’t be in a more festive mood.

I love christmas