Well, I didn’t embarrass myself at the office Christmas party (or “holiday party,” if that’s your preference) yesterday. However, our office drunk managed to deliver, getting positively RIPPED within the first two hours. The party started around noon, and by 2pm, he had mistaken me for a coworker’s spouse to tell me a joke. Now, that guy and I are both tall and gangly, but the other guy has a big bushy moustache, in contrast to my whiskerless face.
And since our office drunk spent almost 30 seconds trying to tell me how much I resemble Borat before he realized that I don’t have big bushy moustache, I was convinced he was headed toward Top Three status for his drunken office party escapades.
Certainly he would rival the year he loudly (and drunkenly) rambled over the address from our company’s founder and the editor emeritus (#2 all time). I doubt he’ll ever top the year he accidentally (and drunkenly) broke a small serving table by leaning on it. That one became the stuff of legend because of the George-&-Gracie aspect of his wife pointing at him on the floor and cackling (drunkenly).
But just when he was getting ready to make 2007 a party to remember, something funny happened: he disappeared.
No one can recall seeing him after 3pm, shortly before the beginning of our annual state-of-the-company jokefest, new employee Jingle Bells singalong, and Carnac routine (known as Rodnac). I was amazed that an obese drunk in a pink dress-shirt could vanish right before the very eyes of a room full of people who were waiting for him to make an ass of himself, but he somehow pulled it off. Our search parties came up blank, even after checking the floors of all three men’s rooms in the restaurant.
I went all CSI: Miami and tried to reconstruct the scene. Even doing my best David Caruso impression, all I could come up with was that he kept asking coworkers at his table to go up to the free bar and get him his fifth martini, but was turned down. One witness said that he saw the guy stumble out of the dining room around 2:45, which would’ve put him in proximity of the restaurant’s main bar.
I assumed he was looking to continue getting himself loaded, but in the privacy of a room full of people who weren’t waiting for him to make an ass of himself. However, the bartender had no recollection of him, so we had to conclude that he either
- got his car from the valet and drove home early enough not to put the rest of our lives at risk,
- got his car from the valet and drove to another bar,
- passed out face-down in a snowbank behind the restaurant, or
- decided to head back to the office and work on some of his sales accounts before the holiday break.
Maybe I’m being charitable with #4, but it’s the giving season or something.
In true cliffhanger style, we won’t find out the answer to this one till we get back to the office in the new year, but I promise to find the truth, dear readers!
VM bonus! The owner of our company in his Rodnac regalia:
