Friday, Nov. 19, 2004 - 4:27 P.M.

As I�ve stated here before I�m an office manager. As the office manager it falls to me to do a bunch of crap I don�t really want to do. In spite of that, some of the things could actually be fun if I weren�t so crippled by the fear of being held solely accountable when (notice I didn�t say �if�) something goes wrong. You�ve heard the old adage �You can please some of the people some of the time but you can�t please all of the people all of the time,� right? For my purposes, I�d like it to say, �You can�t please any of these people ever. No matter what you do. Just stop trying already! No statues will be built in tribute to you even if you solve every crisis they have, you won�t even get a �thanks for trying!� because they�re all too fucking disgruntled.� Ahem.

The office Christmas party could be an exciting and fun event to plan but is not due to the fact that my being fired is actually the best outcome possible (and the one I�d lobby vehemently for considering the alternatives) when (notice I didn�t say �if�) it all goes south. The office Christmas party is the bane of my existence. An office Christmas party to plan, office Christmas cards to send and Christmas gifts to send from the office? Just kill me.

Now, in a normal business situation, one would expect to be held accountable if, say, one chose a caterer for a function, never checked references or sampled wares and that caterer showed up surly and drunk and quite possibly having just burned a good one, the food sucked and he left the place a disaster. But, dear friends, we are not dealing with a normal business situation.

Every year it falls to me to plan the party. Generally? No one wants to come to the thing but it�s pretty much mandatory that one must. Specifically? I hate it and would rather jab myself in the eye repeatedly with a dirty syringe. See, right off the bat I�m dealing with overall discontentment because folks are mandated to attend an event they don�t want to be at in the first place, with people they see five days a week in an environment where expressions of joy and a gregarious attitude are much frowned upon. So when you put people who have been mandated to attend a soir�e together in a small room where (now) forced joy and gregariousness abound, liquor flows freely (the one saving grace, I must say) and one is expected to sit and politely and endure the slew of office merry Andrews, well, it will not seem at all strange that you are considering putting a gun in your mouth and pulling the trigger. Instead, it will seem both a sensible solution and a welcome respite.

No matter which restaurant, caterer or venue is chosen for the Christmas party, I assure you, there will either be something wrong immediately or an ever growing list things will go wrong during the course of the evening. And I will be blamed for those things. Crusty mold found on inside of bread basket? Purplecigar�s fault. Aliens swoop down and vaporize all patrons? Purplecigar�s fault. Nuclear war ensues and fallout ruins all food? You guessed it. I may even be blamed for pushing the damn red button that started the flippin� war. I mean, sure, Rome wasn�t built in a day, but that�s only because I wasn�t in charge. Of that I am certain. In a perfect world everyone would be happy with my choices and we could all move along just swell.

Of course, if ifs and buts were candy and nuts we�d all have a Merry Christmas, wouldn't we?

You Give Me Fervor - Friday, Feb. 17, 2006
Revamped Sex Camp - Thursday, Jan. 26, 2006
I'm Not Dead - Tuesday, Jan. 10, 2006
Ebert And Roeper? Watch Your Backs. - Tuesday, Nov. 29, 2005
Coffee? Tea? Map? - Monday, Nov. 07, 2005

� Purplecigar

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