Monday, December 19, 2005

Tis the Season of the Office Party

Our unit party was Saturday night. It was catered...all we needed to bring was a dessert or appetizer, a gift for the exchange, and your own beverage. You needed to bring a date just to help you carry all your stuff.

Well, my date options didn't pan out. They either had to work, or couldn't find a sitter. Whatever. I went anyway. I bought a brownie platter and a plant for Katie because she was the hostess.

I shouldn't have bothered with the brownie the time dessert rolled around, everyone was too drunk to care about brownies. Everyone there was drinking their dessert. Our unit educator became so sauced that she passed out in the coat check room on top of everyone else's coats and scarves. Fortunately, she didn't barf.

The best gift at the exchange, as deemed by another night nurse (with much glee), was something called a "Whizzer". It was a statue on a bottle that would squirt whiskey out of it's wiener when you pushed the button. Two nurses filled it with vodka and insisted that everyone take a turn on the Whizzer. I don't like vodka, I think it's gross. However, they kept shoving it in my face, this statue of a small boy with a small winkie, and despite my insistence that I didn't want to partake of the Whizzer, I got vodka peed on my face and down my shirt. "A facial!!," someone cried.


My bosshole was there sans the wife. Turns out, she is somewhat of a prude (or Nazarene to be more accurate) and she doesn't go out to festivities. So, the bosshole must socialize by himself. I could tell he wanted to partake of the beverage and be falling down drunk like everyone else (except me), but because he was a manager, social mores kept him from doing so...which is unfortunate, because I was hoping for some leverage. At any rate, I felt some pity for the bosshole for having a wife that was a human quaalude...but he married her, so that pity was short-lived.

There was kareoke, with all these new songs I've never even heard of, much less know the words to. Bosshole tried to sing a song with disastrous results, but much laughter from everyone else. There was even dancing, of which I mostly sat and watched. There's great entertainment value in watching drunk white people dance.

It was interesting, though, to see that the night shift people sort of stayed to themselves, the day people stayed to themselves, then there were a couple people (like me) who would go between the two. Overall, it was a nice gathering. Afterwards, a bunch of people were going to go to Westport to get further inebriated. I was invited, but I declined. I'm such a party-pooper.

Besides, I like to think of myself as the only one who remembers exactly what happened that night. It leaves room for some embellishment.

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