Christmas Cheer
By: Kate MacDonald-Dunbar
I thought I had witnessed everything, and nothing could shock me ever again. Then there was you. It was Christmas Eve, the office party. Gathered together were people who resented each other. Who lusted after the other person's job because they knew they could do it way better. There were people who had drifted for the entire year, pretending to work. All gathered together, having had no lunch. This motley crew were fuelled by cheap Prosecco, with nothing to eat but cold blobs of yellow or brown paste on limp crackers. What could go wrong?
You could! I was lucky enough to be close by when you wandered over to the self-proclaimed office Lothario. Your opening gambit? "Yo, Mark. I hear you've found yourself a new girlfriend—a keeper by all accounts. Now, did she come with a foot pump and a puncture repair kit?"
Onwards and upwards. You moved like a shark, silently marking out your next victim within this school of intellectual minnows. I followed.
A group were discussing the type of person they were attracted to. Fred started with, "I like my ladies sweet and demure." Mary, "I like the blonde beach boy type." Joyce said, "For me it's Mr. Spock, lean, dark, and intellectual." Then the new girl joined in. "I don't have a type. What does that mean?" To which you replied, "That just means you're easy." Wipe out!
You were on a roll when I saw you spot the boss. Like a missile, you were locked on. He smiled at you, suspecting nothing. By this time, your comments, like ripples in a pool after a pebble has been dropped, had attracted an audience. You weighed in with a compliment, savage!
"What a great year you've had, boss."
"Thanks, I've done my best."
"While it has been said that men can't multi-task, you've disproved that theory. You've wasted time, been unproductive, and procrastinated all at the same time. Well done. Actually, while I have your ear, I've been authorised to tell you that, you're sacked.”
The best office Christmas party, ever!
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