Stephen Fahey: Because Monday

The office Christmas party, whether we’re in a small business or a faceless corporation, the traditional shindig is always a moment of excitement. It’s that rare opportunity to get drunk and give the bosses a piece of your mind. Or, better still, watch someone else get drunk and give the bosses a piece of your mind. There’s the obligatory over the top drunk too, necktie around their head, one half of their shirt flopping over their belt and sweat spraying off of them as they wildly flail on the dance floor in a fit of unrivalled self-empowerment. Not to mention the tears. Oh, the tears. Like a damp and salty lottery, nobody knows who is going to cry their eyes out and ruin their night, but there is always, always, someone who, black out drunk or only a little tipsy, lets the waterworks flow freely.

All of these fine social traditions, and more, make the office Christmas party a moment to be sure to attend. So if you’re on the fence about whether to go or not, then make the effort. Trust me. Just don’t get caught in a teary web, or give the bosses a piece of your mind. They’re not stupid. They already know what you all think of them – as evidenced by the fact that once they’ve handed out the drinks tokens they’ll get the hell out of their before someone decides to give them a piece of your mind.

You don’t need to overdress. But a snazzy suit and a double Windsor do make for a charming disguise as you mingle. And if you want to go the other way and wear a tracksuit, or the dreaded Christmas jumper, then remember to own the living daylights out of it. Just don’t end up on the dance floor with your necktie around your head. Because, well, the final piece of the puzzle, A.K.A. Monday, will swing around and bite you right in the ass before you know it.

Speaking of which, dealing with the inevitable Monday is simple. There is one rule: Don’t be the person who has to do the walk of shame into the office. You can get pickled, loaded, sloshed or sozzled, and even a little blitzed, but if you don’t want to have to drag your carcass into the office like a three legged elk on a unicycle on Monday, then keep it together. The office Christmas party isn’t the time or the place to get freaky with Janice in accounting, or Debbie in HR, or anyone for that matter. Nor is it the correct occasion to lambaste the bigwigs, steal towels from the washroom, spike the punch, get into political debates over finger food, deny the moon landing, postulate the existence of sub-marco-atomic particles, sling a particular item of clothing around your head, or even think about having five or six too many. Because Monday.

All that being said, do enjoy yourself. Dog knows you worked hard enough all year and the least that shower of bastards can do is drop a few quid behind the bar for you and your team. You deserve it. You and the best damn sales team this side of Bogatá deserve it. Even the eejit on the dance floor sweating all over anyone foolish enough to get within six feet of him deserves it. And, sadly, even the bosses deserve it. That’s the actual point. Just remember Monday. In the name of all that is good and pure, remember Monday. Because Monday.

Stephen Fahey

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