You guys are probably wondering, Madness, what of your Broker Holiday Party 2007? Ah, glad you asked. This year's party didn't exactly reach the level of shenanigans of 2005, but neither was it weighted by my bitterness of
2006. So, we're ahead of the curve.
Our company party sticks to a script of sorts. The intro always involves the Open Bar and is slathered with comments on how we all clean up nicely. Then onto a civil and lovely dinner coupled with Open Bar. Then a touching and praising toast from the owners. We were up yet another 20% in growth this year, considering a bad overall market, so why wouldn't they feel all vklemp about us? This was followed by more Open Bar. Then it was time for the Steal the Present Game with a side of Open Bar. This year, we all preemptedly tried to rig the Gift Game. Usually our controller goes out and buys an assortment of expensive gifts for the game and we reek havoc from there, trying to steal the most coveted items. This year, our controller asked us individually what we might like to personally see as a gift. Charged with the idea of cheating the game and getting something we truly would like, we all gave a wide variety of answers, not one of us asked for the same thing. I asked for a Cuisinart mixer. I researched a variety of mixers, including the famed Kitchen Aid, and decided on the industrious Cuisinart to help me with all my baking needs soon to come. Most of us knew what each other had wished for weeks in advance, going so far as to say things like, "Oh Madness, I can't wait until you get your mixer." And I would say, "Oh my gosh, I know! And I can't wait until you get your phone." Giggling would then ensue. We were jazzed. Not many were more jazzed than I, so much so that I told my closest friends outside of work about my impending killer gift. As the game began, extravagant and fantastic gifts revealed themselves. Pricey spa gift certificates, cruise-ship dinners, Broadway shows, a 42" Plasma TV, for christ's sake. I nervously waited for the mixer distracted by none of the big-ticket items. The mixer was unwrapped by our IT guy. When my name was called soon after, I predictably walked over to him. The IT guy even met me half way across the floor to hand it to me. The crowd cheered and I beamed. At our table, we were jolly and laughed easily as the game came near the end. Husband squeezed my hand, happy for me. Our warehouse guy's name was called and we watched him get his ear bent by his wife. After a minute, he strode across the dance floor, rounded my table and picked up the mixer. The entire room gasped, then groaned. It wasn't the usual finger-pointing and laughing that goes on when a good gift is stolen. It was genuine surprise and empathy. Everyone had known how much I had wanted the mixer. The warehouse guy had asked for the Dewault cordless drill/saw set, which was poised for the taking, but the wife demanded the mixer at the last minute. We brokers are cold, but she made him break our subjectable code. I tried to play it off, like I didn't feel kicked in the stomach. I watched the mixer box go back to his table to someone who hadn't spent weeks researching and hoping and wishing and praying for the mixer. I walked over and stole the Dewault drill for my husband.
I will say, I was really embarrassed for how long it took me to shake this off. I was mad at myself for feeling the way I did. I typically could care less about material things; they most certainly come and go. I was the most mad that I had let my hopes get so high and locked when in reality this is how the game is played. God bless the fucking warehouse guy's wife. (I suck.)
After the Gift Game, and many condolences from my co-workers including a sad, drunken one from the warehouse guy, we went back to the Open Bar, and the DJ started to spin the CD's. This is when we exercise our demons and let it all hang out. We don't judge those who dance like lunatics or fall and slur and break things and flash body parts or pass out right there on the rug. Hell no. We expect it. We laugh hard about it and we help them up, and keep going until we feel a little better ourselves.
Here's my man Big M working it out with himself on the dance floor. He said later, "I might as well of had some glow sticks."
This year the raucous spotlight was on our Purchasing Manager, Ling, whom I've know for ten years. She's always had a screw loose, in a good way. These last couple years have been hard on her. She fought a battle with a rare, cancerous tumor. We joke that only she could get something so rare. So far, she's winning the battle. She battles other things too so we give her space to go nuts at the party, and elsewhere. She also loves my Husband and always expresses this a lot when she's drunk. She likes to hang on him like he's a coat rack. I'm sure she'd like to use him in other ways, but he draws a line as I laugh and take pictures.
I mean, good god, he is so handsome. I can't really blame her.
Help me, he might've said here.
Here's Ling doing the elusive and endangered crane dance. Her form is top notch! If you look closely at the right edge of this photo, you can see my mixer being guarded by the lady in the white dress. You better guard it! Ok, breathing and letting go. Breathing and letting go.
Moments later we all saw Ling's beige panties when she fell and her legs stuck straight up like a doll's. But this was way after she flashed us her boobies about four times. Nothing to hide, girl! That's right.
I love this next picture because that guy in the middle looks like he's in his own world, doesn't he? It looks like that may be one of the drinks that was one too many, but his face says FUUUCK IT. This guy had actually officially said good night and had left the party only to be seen moments later ordereing this drink. He wasn't done. Nuh uh. It wasn't over yet for him.
All in all, another blast of a party thrown by the Job. As for the mixer, I finally let my grudge go the second I got my period. Go figure. I also went on eBay yesterday and bought the mixer for $100 less than the store price, which made me feel less guilty. It should be here next Monday and I can't wait.
I'm still saying unto you: Happy Holidays Damnit!
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