Q4 Holiday Party Recap
So the lion said I had to go to the holiday party at work. (Not that it took much arm twisting.) Parties at my company sound fairly legendary, and all sorts of mysterious clues had been dropped over the past few weeks. "Wear your coat." "If you need to be back by a certain time because of sitters, let us know so we can arrange for it." "We're meeting in the lobby here, and do NOT be later than 7:30!"
Theories abounded. "Booze cruise!!" "We're totally going to the zoo to drink with lions." "We're walking to the Space Needle and bungee jumping off of it into a vat of champagne!" "I think they're going to just let us ride back and forth all night on the newly inaugurated S.L.U.T."
Not so. The office party was actually...at the office. Which wasn't so bad, because they actually did a pretty rad (and fast) job of morphing the place into something fantastical. Every conference room had a theme: hookah lounge, hot chocolate corner, karaoke zone, sno-cone palace, face paint central, etc. It was kind of like going to the fair. Only you're at work. And everything is free. Especially drinks.
I'll skip most of the stories, because they're no different than most drunken work party stories. But I will tell you about my shoes. On Saturday morning after the party I noticed I tracked mud into my house. Monday someone reminisced about the cake that was brought in towards the end of the party (cake that I did not remember). Tuesday (today) I was straightening shoes in my closet and saw that I must have stepped in a swamp of wet toilet paper on the night of the party, because the shoes I had worn that night had white crusty shit around the heels.
Then it all dawned on me:
I suddenly remembered the cake fight that broke out!
That was not dried toilet paper mache on my shoes, it was FROSTING!!!
That was not mud that I tracked in, it was CHOCOLATE!!
Theories abounded. "Booze cruise!!" "We're totally going to the zoo to drink with lions." "We're walking to the Space Needle and bungee jumping off of it into a vat of champagne!" "I think they're going to just let us ride back and forth all night on the newly inaugurated S.L.U.T."
Not so. The office party was actually...at the office. Which wasn't so bad, because they actually did a pretty rad (and fast) job of morphing the place into something fantastical. Every conference room had a theme: hookah lounge, hot chocolate corner, karaoke zone, sno-cone palace, face paint central, etc. It was kind of like going to the fair. Only you're at work. And everything is free. Especially drinks.
I'll skip most of the stories, because they're no different than most drunken work party stories. But I will tell you about my shoes. On Saturday morning after the party I noticed I tracked mud into my house. Monday someone reminisced about the cake that was brought in towards the end of the party (cake that I did not remember). Tuesday (today) I was straightening shoes in my closet and saw that I must have stepped in a swamp of wet toilet paper on the night of the party, because the shoes I had worn that night had white crusty shit around the heels.
Then it all dawned on me:
I suddenly remembered the cake fight that broke out!
That was not dried toilet paper mache on my shoes, it was FROSTING!!!
That was not mud that I tracked in, it was CHOCOLATE!!
Leave a comment