Let's Rock this [Office Christmas] Party!

There are not many things that can top a company Christmas party, if you don't count every single other thing that has ever existed. The debate surrounding the relative worth of these gatherings has long ceased, and now we must only determine the purpose for their existence. Sure, everyone has a good time making fun of them, and that's probably worth something. But just because I can make fun of cockroaches doesn't mean we should eat more cockroaches, or breed them so we never run out. They are no fun to eat my friends, let me tell you! I ate one once, and if you pressed me on it, I would admit that was the wrong call on my part. My bad on that one.

Ok, so even though that was a clever metaphor I thought of with the cockroaches, the rabbit-hole goes far deeper, twisting and turning. That is another metaphor, but I don't have time to explain every single one. The point is, I've once more done the mental legwork on the office party mystery so that you can save your energy for going to the restroom or eating peanut butter sandwiches, or whatever it is you guys do when you're not here reading stuff and getting smarter.

My hypothesis is that we continue to attend these social train wrecks because we're searching for the perfect office christmas party. Just like unicorns, heterosexual male hairdressers, or real candidates for president, we keep thinking that one must exist somewhere. Well, I have news for y--hey, I think that's a unicorn...

I think the concept of free alcohol also figures prominently. I don't care about that, because drinking is for the devil, but the satan-worshippers in the office seem to enjoy it. The damned have funny ideas sometimes. Anyway, the other incentive that comes to mind is the award ceremony. At my company, the only awards given are for 5, 10, and 15 years of consecutive service. Not dying seems to be the requirement for earning one of these. I guess management would also prefer that you not embezzle noticably large sums of money or use your corporate expense account for hookers, but even those transgressions won't prevent a service award from happening. Trust me on this. Not that I'm complaining, I was not feeling very sexy at all that night, and it's almost like she cared about me. I know that sounds crazy...but enough romantic talk.

When I reflect on last Friday's party, what stands out to me the most, is that, at my date's request, I'm not to call her ever again. I knew things had gone sour when I asked her what she thought of everybody. She started doing this robot-like stiff-walk, complete with choppy, mechanical arm and leg movements. Apparently this was representative of the collective personality and charm of my office mates. So big deal, I'm a robot. I guess me and the other robots will rock you silly at next year's party, which will finally be awesome!