A few weeks ago, I recounted the grim details of a recent drinks night with my co-workers and invited our gorgeous and talented readers to submit their own stories of shame and regret (and if you haven’t read the outrageously brilliant comments in the first post, please do, and find some reassurance that the time you propositioned Hot Todd from legal in the mailroom at the Christmas Party wasn’t the worst you could have done).  If you’re muddling through your own generic Sunday malaise, nursing a pounding headache, or better yet, wincingly preparing yourself for an embarrassing Monday morning at work repenting for your sins, take comfort in reader Sarrible’s story of Office Party Gone Wrong.

Sarrible writes:

The year was 2004.  The month, December.  This was the first year in the black for the magazine I worked for many, many moons ago (and though we didn’t know it, it was to be the last).  So our Editor-In-Chief and publisher gamely proclaimed that they would buy the drinks for the holiday party!  (This was the only time that happened in the four years I worked there.  Usually, we took turns buying rounds and coming up with inventive profanity for our European parent company).

They picked a swanky downtownish bar owned by a swanky downtownish New York actor.  There was lots of beer, lots of wine, lots of champagne, and very little food.  At one point, the Executive Editor, a lady in her fifties, suggested tequila shots.  (She was ALWAYS the one to suggest tequila shots!).  At another point, I apparently hollered at the publisher to bring us more champagne.  I will note that I was only partway in the bag at this time.

When our tab ran out, four or five coworkers and I departed to one coworker’s apartment, where we intended to continue the revelry and thoroughly terrify his cats.  The three fellows in attendance immediately adjourned to the balcony to commence smoking of illegal things, while I attempted to open what was certainly my third bottle of wine in the kitchen, with the help of my lovely coworker, K. The first thing I did was open up a centimeter-long cut on my thumb with the foil on the wine bottle. The second thing I did was join the fellows on the balcony, where I proved unsuccessful at smoking pot.  Yep.  Unsuccessful.  And then, I proved myself unsuccessful at walking, when I turned to go inside and walked directly into the exterior wall of my friend J’s apartment, taking most of the skin off the tip of my nose.

I was not the silliest person of the evening, however.  That would be our newest hire at the time, R, who had at least as much tequila as I did and spent about an hour lying in the corner of J’s apartment next to the cats’ litterbox, unable to move his legs.  It is worth noting that, at the bar, R approached the actor who owned the joint and asked him to have a drink with us.  There had been something of a nasty altercation, followed by a complete hissyfit on R’s part.  We never did conclude why R’s legs were paralyzed.  Far into the wee hours of the morning, my direct supervisor walked me home, quite chivalrously ignoring the fact that I couldn’t walk in a straight line if he’d paid me.

The next day was the day I was going home to visit the family for Christmas.  I woke up around 9:00 a.m., unable to move my head, and lay in bed for an hour until I didn’t feel like dying immediately.  After packing my bags, and schlepping ten blocks to buy my dad cupcakes from Magnolia (it was the only thing the ladies he worked with knew about New York, and I was beholdern), I got to work at noon to find my coworkers equally miserable and whining for matzo ball soup like the sodden liberals they are.  At 3:00 that day, I boarded a train home for the holiday and had to figure out a way to explain to my family why I had no skin on the tip of my nose.  I never did come up with a satisfactory answer, though I may have repeatedly told them I was mugged.  For my nose.

Please, share your Office Party Abyss horror stories in the comment section.  If you have a more detailed (but not too long – do as I say, not as I do!) story to share and would like it to be considered for publication, email tarred.and.tailfeathered@gmail.com, and we’ll post the top story.  Include your chosen pseudonym and title your email “Office Party.”  

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