I’ll definitely admit to being a little reluctant to attend not one, but two Christmas parties held by a company of Engineers inside of a week… But I dutifully located the 4 pieces of clothing I own that 1) weren’t paint stained and 2) would pass for semi formal - and we headed for the affairs. I still tend to stand out like a paint stained sore thumb in a sea of plaid wearing, shop talking eggheads where the conversations always run the risk of being as dry as the red wine on the table. Ultimately, I was able to tolerate the forced interest and thinly veiled condescension that comes with introducing yourself as an ‘artist’ to people from the technical ilk and eventually located a few people that shared my passion for either creative ventures, sports, motorcycle related activities and/or even heavy drinking.
By the end of the second party (last night) I’ll admit to having achieving a certain level of comfort in my surroundings - and even found myself belly-up-to-the-bar alongside my wife’s 'big' boss doing shots… So I suppose I was beginning to think I had survived and even somewhat enjoyed my time being my wife’s ‘+1’ at her Christmas parties.
As the crowd started to thin and the night drew to a close, we were closing in on another $60 babysitting bill and figured it was time to head for home. I was thoroughly enjoying my conversation with a recently immigrated engineer from Ireland - who just happened to share all of my above mentioned passions. But it was time to step away from the table, finish my drink and head for home (btw - don’t worry - Cherie had agreed to drive)… So I did the obligatory final big gulp of my beer and immediately knew I was in trouble.
Do you know that swallow you make when you take in far more air than anything else - and it feels like a tennis ball slowly making it’s way down your esophagus?!?!? If so, then; yup… It was one of those. I was able to do put on a brave face and make it through the last of my ‘thank you's and good-byes’ before heading out to the company car that Cherie had reserved for her client meetings today. All the while, I knew there was a balloon of stupidity inflating with a yeasty ferocity inside of my stomach that, at some point, was going to require the pressure release of a pretty monumental belch. And, about halfway home, it came. It was immediate relief in one quick gastric gesture - but, no, it was not, umm, unaccompanied. And, yes, though it was nowhere near an exorcist tribute moment, it was enough that complete containment was not possible.
So… I’m not sure if I can say I’ve actually survived Christmas party season or not… The food was first class, the drinks flowed freely, and, for the most part, the conversations were even enjoyable. But… yeah… I kinda puked a little in Cherie’s company car. So… I suppose we’ll have to try again next year!
Hope you’ve had a good week!
Rod
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