In the Exit Row

After The Holiday Party, there’s the After Party.

It’s a scene of moderate pandemonium as a hundred drunk out-of-towners try to come to a consensus on a location. “Let’s bounce!” quickly turns into “We’re going to bounce!” which then turns into “We’re going to Bounce…. a bar called Bounce.” Long story short, pick a spot, make like titties, and bounce.

Go ahead and buy the first round of drinks. It’s all going on Corporal Amex, but you’ll feel more badass than this guy.

The alcohol is flowing and things are starting to get a little weird. There will probably be a She’s All That candidate you last remember wearing glasses and an office suit. Now she’s dancing on a table.

Stay tuned, because in t-minus 20 minutes, you’ll witness an epic fall.

Welcome to alcohol! Everything in moderation. Try not to laugh as she’s carried off by a few guys.

Perhaps the most troubling part of the holiday party, is the inevitable horn-dogging of your managers and senior managers. Aren’t you guys married?! Don’t you have kids?! Weren’t you neutered?!

Do, however, cheer for the shy guy on your team that’s making out with a random hottie at the bar. Well done, good sir. Well done.

As for you, you realize that you’re getting older and your moves are a lot more awkward and uncoordinated than they used to be.

Some of the guys decide to go to a strip club and ask you to join.

Unfortunately, you can’t see straight and it’s time to call it a night and head home.

After the After Party? There’s the hotel lobby. No, R. Kelly isn’t giving out free showers to every SPG Platinum member. 90% of you are staying at the hotel and as you stumble “home” more erratically than a North Korean missile, contemplating the efficacy of the elevator lobby button as a urinal, your project partner shows up.

With She’s All That.

The Holiday Party.

Where dreams are made.

[Disclaimer: All stories/situations in this post, while hilarious, are entirely fictional. Minus the fact that R. Kelly pissed on people. That shit is true.]

The holiday spirit is among us. And when complimentary spirits are among the holiday party, a night of corporate nerdery gone wild is yours for the taking.

It’s still undetermined why a a group of people who make so much money get so hard at the thought of open bars and shitty decorations. Perhaps it’s the excuse to leave work early,

Perhaps it’s the free food,

Or, perhaps it’s your boozy chance to tellfis the manager on your team what you think about her,

At it’s earlier, more sober, stages, the holiday party can be difficult to navigate. Feel free to combine your passion for current events and flirting by trying lines like, “If I hear one Mor-si song, I’m going to have to kill a Yankee,” and “Why don’t we get out of here and find a resolution to my fiscal stiff?” Don’t be surprised if you fail, but at least you took the plunge.

Pretend it never happened and try to join a “networking circle.” When you realize the conversation is about work and everyone is sippin dat Kool-Aid, gracefully make your way out of the conversation, and move on.

As you walk around, you may notice some particularly festive holiday ensembles. Cheerful ties - fine. Ugly sweaters - whatever. But if you see someone wearing a vest and bowtie,

resist the urge to hand him your keys and ask him to valet your car. And if you run into the questionably overweight girl in an unquestionably inappropriate sequin dress that everyone is talking about… Don’t even think about it.

Drinks are flowing and it’s time to make your way onto the dancefloor. But, just as you start getting your groove on,

the open bar closes and it’s time to make your way to…

… the after party.

Part(y) 2, tomorrow.
 

Promise.

Happy Holidays!

And Happy Holiday Parties! (Hint, hint.)

[Editor’s Note: I have nothing work related to write about anymore. So I’m just going to write about other things. Like ponytails.]

Personal hygiene and grooming are important matters, especially when you work in the client-services industry. It is not uncommon to hear recommendations that one must shave often and keep a regular hair-cutting routine. That being said, I have made a conscious decision not to cut my hair for the next year, for the sole reason that I will be able to tie it back into a ponytail.

Yes, I am fully aware that on the one to Bono douche scale, a ponytail wielding male registers somewhere around a Kevin Federline.

I’ll have to endure an awkward phase where my hair is neither long enough to tie back nor short enough to be presentable. I’ll be in purgatory between sizes, like being restricted to shopping at either 7-Eleven or Costco. And I’m anticipating the moment when I’ll wake up, reach for my alarm, and notice that the scrunchie on my nightstand is not a trophy, but a necessity.

So, why am I doing this?

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