Happy Halloween! I know it’s past..but it just so happens to be one of my favorite days of the year. Why? I would have to refer to the movie Mean Girls when Lindsey Lohan’s character sums it up by saying “That one time a year when girls get to dress up as sluts and no one can say anything about it.” (Well close enough..I haven’t pulled it out in a while.) I definitely took a sheet from the Regina George “Burn Book” and had my Ta-ta’s out on display sufficiently as Slutty Alice (in Wonderland). No one even saw my costume. All were concerned with my boobs. It was fantastic.
There is another reason I love Halloween. It’s the kick off to the Holiday season!! I fucking love the Holidays. I love the Holidays so much my family dreads them simply because for two month I am the equivalent of a female Clark Griswold and make everyone’s life hell by my unrealistic expectations of a perfect Yule Tide. But something else has been brought up as well that has me slightly concerned. The bank Christmas party has been mentioned, and since it has been years since I have been to a proper bank Christmas party, I’m hoping I have grown up enough to show some restraint around the liquor table. I intend this evening to explain in detail as to why this is concerning, obviously there is a personally inflicted humiliation to follow.
I’ve mentioned in my earlier posts I have experienced a job change in the last 5 months that was quite unexpected. To update, I have settled into my role quite nicely and am enjoying the fact a hike in anxiety medication dosages are no longer an issue I am struggling with. But Christmas parties in the last 5 years with my previous employer consisted of the entire district (all between 20-38..not one over 40) going out to the hottest restaurant on the bank’s dime, drinking as much liquor as we could consume on our own dime, nominating who was the soberest of the bunch (which was never the district manager since he tended to get drunker than all 80 or so of us), squeezing as many people as we could in compact vehicles, heading out to the bars in the city, getting all of our drinks paid for by the district manager because he was too drunk to give a shit by that point, get drunk, then realize your stuck in the city with all of these crazy ass banker people so you find the soberest one of the bunch, go to a low key bar, sober up, and by God’s good grace make it home by 4 a.m. I have been informed the Christmas party I will be attending this year will most definitely NOT be anything from my most recent experiences.
So why am I anxious about this snooty Christmas soiree with my new found banker buddies? It’s traditional. And unfortunately, my last traditional soiree experience related to bank employee celebrations didn’t end up too great for me.
I want to say this was 2004-2005..somewhere in there. I can’t remember why this bank was having a get together..I know it wasn’t the holidays..but drink tickets were involved. I was 23-24 at the time and had a reputation with bank as the fun and fabulously flirty girl who knew how to properly socialize aka I was a prada loving snotty bitch who only drank wine, dated older men, and slept with her co-workers. So wasn’t it a fantastic idea at this bank function everyone would be given 2 drink tickets for wine consumables of their choice. Why yes it was a fantastic idea..that is..until my drink tickets were gone.
So once my tickets were gone I went on the hunt to find more. Finally, word got out I was looking for drink tickets and co-workers started coming to me giving me their tickets from tables that others didn’t want. Happy again, I continued drinking. And got sufficiently shit-faced. When the function was over, I remember being one of the first ones out of there and stumbled out into the city. I do remember it was a clear night, there was no threat of imminent weather, and as such, should have been no reason a sensible person wouldn’t have made it to their car unscathed. Since I am not the sensible person of the story, I stumbled out onto Monroe Ave, tripped on a pot hole in the middle of the road (that could rival hell in size) on my Barbie heels, and fell. When I came to my senses enough to know I had fallen, I stood up to find a.) my pantyhose, knee, and hand ripped to shreds and b.) many bank employees laughing, shaking their heads and laughing, laughing discreetly with hand over mouth, pretending they didn’t see, and making it very obvious they did see and disapproved. I sobered up really quickly and hurried to my car, the snotty bitch in me feeling utterly exposed and shameful.
The next day it was obvious no one wanted to talk about the work function. Oh no. All everyone wanted to talk about was how much of a mess I was. And at the time, I was young enough to still appreciate my lack of better judgement, however, I was maturing in a way at the same time that the ferris wheel that was my dysfunction was continuously turning. And with every turn, a new car would bring a new thought, a new memory, or a new reprimand for myself. I couldn’t forget the faces of those who witnessed my disgrace. And I can still see them to this day. A contant reminder for me to hold on to and never forget what misjudgement tends to make us pay.
Lesson #71-You must remember..even if work is not at work..you are still at work. Sure, when your employer puts on a fun time and endorses merriment in the form of liquid spirits, refrain from partaking tends to be my motto since my Monroe Ave fiasco. Case in point, I mentioned paragraphs up my district manager would get so incapacitated from all the alcohol he consumed at work functions he paid dearly by being the least respected leader by all of us. We couldn’t stand him because he so willingly showcased his level of immaturity, not to mention his weakness. He was a ridiculous idiot, such as I was myself when I exercised no personal control in possession of drink tickets.
In conclusion, I would also like to point out that while my banker co workers were getting sauced, I was always one they could count on to drive home sober. Since my drunken embarrassment, I find it much more satisfying to watch another willingly throw their reputation, and future prospects, to the wind in the name of a good time.