Yes, the usual time for Christmas parties is in December or maybe the very beginning of January, but where I work we like to do things differently, so last night was the night where we all got together, wolfed down our food as fast as humanly possible and consumed as much free alcohol as our poor bodies could handle, all to wake up the next morning thinking, “Oh God, I can never show my face in work again.”
For me it was all quite rushed getting there as I didn’t arrive home from college until 8:25 and had to go home, get ready and be there for 8:40, but that’s all part of the fun of it. As I arrived to the hotel famished (I hadn’t had time to eat all day) all I could think of was that I wanted food in my belly, NOW. That thought quickly subsided however when that first pint bottle of cider was placed in front of me and my inner Irish alcoholic made a well received entrance to the party.
This year we decided to raise the stakes just that tad bit more by adding the dreaded ‘Secret Santa’ to the mix. Lucky me, as always, that I pulled out one of the most difficult people to buy for, our head chef Donal. Don’t get me wrong I love Donal, but trying to think of something to get for him was a nightmare, especially as his moods comprise of either hilarity or extreme seriousness and that’s why I eventually went for the cheeky dig by buying him a book for first time cooks entitled ‘How To boil An Egg’. I’m not going to lie, as he began to open the present my heart fluttered just a tad due to the suspense of whether his reaction was going to be a hearty laugh or a look of disdain. Thankfully, the Gods were looking down upon me and Donal opened the present with a big smile on his face (dodged a bullet on that one).
After the most suspenseful moment of the night (am I exaggerating this a little it? Nah, couldn’t be), with the relief of everyone at the table being happy with their presents, either ordinary, like a scarf, or funny such as ‘penis bowling’, yes I did just say penis bowling (although the recipient of the gift originally thought it said ‘penis blowing’ which I think would have been even better), the drinks truly started flowing.
Post-meal time we all got our coats, presents and selves together and went to a local bar to enjoy a dance (or 20). When we arrived it was relatively quiet, but that went unnoticed after we had a couple of rounds of shots in our bellies, and with those shots came the chats, giggles and bonding with people whom you haven’t really spoken to since last year’s drunken Christmas party. Also, as I only work night-porter nowadays, I got to befriend some new coworkers whom I hadn’t really seen much of before, which is always a nice additive to an evening!
Towards the end of the night the drunken stumbles, dancing with all of the old people at the bar and sing-songs (but of course) made their appearances and they certainly ended off the night with a bang.
So yes, we may hold our Christmas parties a little bit later than most, but at least when we do it we do it in style.
Here’s to another successful one next year.