My dear parent, Television, has clearly shown me over the years what an "Office Christmas Party" is. It's when a bunch of people who work in an office celebrate the holidays together- often consuming holiday fare, maybe some alcohol, possibly at the workplace, and possibly with a date in tow.
That's not quite how it happens at my office.
No at my office, it's a huge fustercluck orchestrated by the office biddies as they play "tea party". First, they demand with Gestapo-like tactics that everyone commit to bringing a specific dish by signing a sheet. It's like ACORN trying to put together a democrap event. Then when they don't like what you're bringing, they surround you and complain with such brilliant statements as "we don't have any real food- it's all sweets". Yeah, cause you're always seeing salads and shit like that at Christmas Parties. Why just last year we gave out grilled bratwursts to the christmas carolers that came to our house. Not.
It's Christmas, you dipshits! You're SUPPOSED to eat cookies, cakes, pies and fattening shit like that! Go to a f***ing restaurant if you want to eat "real food".
Next, the biddies abandon their normal work to "decorate"- hanging ornaments and crap all over the Office in what they must imagine is some sort of clever interior decorating gambit. I suppose they see unicorns and mermaids too. It's a frickin' OFFICE, people! No matter how much tinsel you throw around, it's still an OFFICE. For f***'s sake, our office doesn't even have carpet! Yeah, real homey feeling...
But it's just not the biddies having tea with Mrs. Nesbitt that iritate me. No, it's the assholes that volunteer to bring shit like "syrup". Syrup?! Are you f***ing kidding me? Who the f*** brings syrup to a "pitch-in"? Maybe if you also brought along some pancakes or waffles. Or if SOMEONE in the office was bringing them, and maybe it was imported f***ing syrup. Lazy prick. Next year I bet they bring "salt and pepper". Or maybe some f***ing mustard.
Me, I go out of my way, to the local Sam's Club, fighting through the shuffling zombie shoppers to buy a platter of the best damn brownies on planet earth. Sure, it's a huge pain in the ass to buy just brownies, so I end up spending a bunch of money for stuff for my kids. Dammit, I have some Christmas spirit.
Morning of the party, the biddies are getting the tea party all laid out- napkins here and there, empty chairs for the mermaids and unicorns. We are told we have to wait until 10 AM to start eating.
Apparently, that doesn't apply for Mrs. Nesbitt. Seems one of the bitches, er-, biddies, has her husband (and not Buzz Lightyear- it was a "Toy Story" reference) come in and start scarfing down food a half hour early. You know, buffets have a f***ing sneeze shield for a reason. I sure don't want to eat anything that was sitting right in front of some bastard slobbering and laughing and chewing with his mouth open, having a jolly old f***Ing time while my stomach starts to digest itself.
But wait, at five minutes until kick off time, all the moochers show up! No, wait, maybe they aren't moochers- they were f***ing invited by the boss after all. No, they weren't required to bring a dish, and no they aren't any of our staff's spouses or anything. Nope, just f***ers that happen to work in our building. And of course, they have flapped their slobbering jaws all morning long in anticipation of all that free food, so now the whole f***ing building knows there's food in our office.
Oh, joy, now the pitch-in is a soupline. Now I get to pick at leftovers that survived the guest stampede. Oh, and that not only have my co-workers coughed, laughed, sneezed and otherwise exhaled all over, but I get the germs of all the hundred-plus other people that might show up, but with whom I have little to no contact the rest of the year, despite the fact we all work in the same building. Pass.
No, instead, I'll sit at my computer, eating a f***ing bag of chips, trying to figure out why I can't print on letterhead from the printer (cause I had to get a new f***ing hard drive this week and now my PC is all messed up)
Merry Christmas, assholes.
Good thing I bought an extra platter of brownies for myself last night. At least I'll get some of the f***ers when I get home.
If the kids haven't eaten them all, yet...
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