Don't let this happen to you.
- Davide Dukcevich, Forbes.com - Office Party Survival Guide
“Difficulties mastered are opportunities won.”
- Winston Churchill
(Originally written December 11th, 2002)
More careers have been destroyed at company office parties than any other known cause.
I’m sure I’ve derailed my career track at, at least, one of them.
I’ve been working with my company since October 1990. Two months after I was hired, I attended my first office party. I was in no way ready for the political minefield that defines itself in suits, ties, and scotch on the rocks.
Picture this if you will. It’s 1990. A twenty-four year old new hire who defined “party” as something seen in the first ten minutes of the movie, Animal House, goes to his first office party. He is surrounded by coworkers, roughly his age and experience, including his roommate whom he’d gone to college with*. Mix with that a band of stuffy, old school, financial / technical managers. The place: Hot Rods Dance Club - downtown Manhattan.
I began the evening with a beer. Which turned into two. Which turned into eight. Then I started to experiment with the aptly named “Mind Erasers” with a man who would eventually be a future boss. I partied like it was 1999.**
Needless to say, I don’t remember much of the evening. I do, however, remember this:
I was with my roommate on a stage singing, Frank Sinatra’s song, The Summer Wind.
I spotted another coworker in the ladies room performing an act with a Senior Vice President that you would only find in the “Adult” section of a video store.
I spotted another coworker wandering around the coat room after breaking up with his fiancée in a drunken stupor.
It being approximately 110º F in the club caused a wonderful mixture is sweat and detox.
Everything else was a blur.
I had a good time, but shortly afterward, upon sufficient reflection, I realized I probably could have acted a bit more professional. And considering how far I’ve come in my career (or lack thereof), I’m sure my behavior at the time was probably to blame.
However, as bad as I might have been, I’m certain I have not been the worst case scenario.
There are Christmas parties that I’ve have not attended but have only heard stories of. I’ve heard it was like the plot of Lord of the Flies. At the end of the night a junior executive would be sacrificed while the crowd chanted, “Kill the pig! Drink his blood!!” His glasses were then used to start a fire and the staff was summoned together at the sound of a conch shell blown.
Accidents happen.
I had tried to avoid Christmas parties since getting married. My rule of thumb was that if I couldn’t take my wife then I wouldn’t go. This was actually a safe game plan. If my wife was with me, I’d be less likely to get out of control by doing something radically stupid or getting excessively drunk. And for a long time it worked.
This last Christmas party, held last night, I attended alone. It was a last second decision. I had my mind made up that since so many of my friends were laid off I wouldn’t attend. The game plan was go to work then go home. That was before one of my old bosses brought up a point that made me cringe. He said that this might by the last chance to knock a few back with my remaining friends before they get laid off. He had a point.
Seeing that it wasn’t too late to RSVP, I called my wife and told her I was thinking of going. She told me to enjoy myself. I RSVP’d to management and I was good to go - with the exception of one thing: Clothes.
Dress casual has been the way of things at my company for over two years. That particular morning I was really testing the term “casual”. I wore a purple T-shirt under a gray fleece pullover, with my OD green pants. I had brown, rubber soled shoes on with white socks - plus, I didn’t shave. I was ever so attractive that day.
I could take care of the shaving thing. I keep a razor and shaving cream in my desk for just such an emergency. So, that wasn’t a problem. But as for everything else, I had a fashion emergency. It was still morning. I could go shopping at lunchtime and get some stuff to wear. I figured whatever I bought had to go with brown shoes and a brown belt.
I’ve come to realize that a man shopping in Greenwich Village for business clothes is a quest. Do you realize it’s nearly impossible to find a tie anywhere near NYU? In freezing weather, I trekked across the village looking for decent clothes that would fit. I found that in order to wear clothes that are sold in the village, you need to be anorexically skinny and brooding. Most of the stores sold grays and blacks which would not go with the one brown article of clothing I wasn’t going to replace - my shoes. I eventually found the GAP Men’s store.
I bought a new pair of dark green corduroy pants, a royal blue button down dress shirt, and socks. They didn’t sell ties.
No store near NYU seemed to have ties. I managed to find one close to where I work at Banana Republic.***
I took my newly purchased clothes which totaled over $100, went to a remote rest room within my office building and changed. I went back to my desk and was welcomed by my peers as a “sell out” - for wearing a tie. Crawling back to my cube, I waited for the end of the work day. At that time, I called my old boss and asked him when he wanted to get going.¥ He suggested we leave at 4:PM and start a preliminary drinking primer before arriving via PATH train.
Well, it seemed a good idea at the time.
I had 3 beers in me when I arrived at Harborside Financial, in Jersey City.¥¥ The PATH ride over was a bit rough owing to an immediate need for a bathroom break and not getting one on the train. I checked my coat at the rack and headed for some fast relief.
Now, for some serious drinking.
This was potentially, politically, disastrous. Think about it. In the last two years, my company has been treating the employees like an infectious disease. There were a lot of bad feelings all around and I was not immune to this. Now, having a 3 beer comfort zone, I was basically a ticking time bomb. I ordered a Corona with lime.
Then another…. and another… and another… and another. You see where I’m going with this.
I really haven’t been partying too much lately. I think the last time I did was with Frank Dardzinski and his wife in Trenton months ago. It’s part of getting older. Naturally, you party less. But, believe me, these Coronas were going down cold and smooth. At least with the exception of the one with the broken top that I spotted after my first sip. It might have been the lime stuffed in the bottle that kept me from swallowing any glass shards (No, I’m not lying.) Fortunately, I only had two sips before I has realized the top of the bottle felt weird. I didn’t cut my lips or die.
So, here I am, being a sell out - because I decided to wear a tie. Now, nicely buzzed and brutally honest, I began to mingle. I really don’t remember much after beer number ten but the stories are starting to come back to me. I don’t think I cursed anyone out or told them “they sucked” outright. I’m sure that beer number “last” (I believe it was 13 €) was bad because I was visibly staggering. Beer number “last” was followed by two cokes then a trip to the rest room and coat room to get a limo ride home.
It was 10:15.
The line for rides home was enormous. I was waiting on line, tanked, for about a half hour. Amazingly enough, I didn’t have to pee. It was also at that time I had realized I hadn’t eaten anything all evening. That might have cushioned the blow a bit. I also managed to not throw up. Another miracle. At 10:45, the limo came for both myself and a friend of mine that works for the help desk.
Tagging along at the last second was a woman who said she didn’t live far from Jersey City. I asked her where. She said North Arlington.£ So, after trekking to North Arlington, we headed to Freehold. While driving home I was doing my best to try to sober up as I had to pick up my car at the Park & Ride in Freehold. It would be a final judgment call that would be made when I got to Manalapan. If I felt clear headed enough when I got to that point, I would drive the half mile home. If I did not, I would figure out what to do when I had the limo driver take me to the house.
I felt well enough to drive and was pretty certain I would not get pulled over. And I didn’t. I got home, went to the toilet, took 3 Advil and 1 Pepcid AC, staggered upstairs, took off my new clothes and went to bed.
My wife was kind enough to tell me that I stunk like either a brewery or an ashtray washed in beer. It was midnight.
The alarm went off at 5:30 AM.
It was Wednesday. I had to go to work. Essentially, my condition could be described as either dryer lint or the hair found clogging a drain. I did not “wake up”. I was one giant convulsion. Thanks to the 3 Advil, I had no headache and thanks to the Pepcid AC, I had no belly ache. My equilibrium was still not back. I found this out when I got up from the bed and slammed into the adjacent wall, tripped over a shoe, and lost my balance trying to shut off the ceiling fan.
After a bathroom experience I can only describe as an exorcism, I hit the shower and scrubbed thoroughly. I did not shave. I got into fresh clothes, walked the dogs, brushed my teeth, kissed my wife good bye and headed back to the city.
When I got onto the bus, my body did an immediate shut down. It was as if there was a small man in my head manning a row of power switches and flicking them all off one by one. I woke up twice during the trip to check where I was. When I got to the Port Authority in New York, I attempted my own resurrection by oxygenating my body. My body craved what all hangover victims crave: Grease.
I needed something greasy. I stopped at Au Bon Pain for a ham & cheese croissant. I’d get coffee later. I ate it on the way to the train. And as bad as I was doing that morning, I still got to work on time.
Two things I found as noteworthy that morning. Some idiot in Building Operations decided that the day after the office Christmas party was the perfect time to test the fire alarm system. I’m still hunting him down for slaughter. Secondly, my lovely bride called me at the office this morning and sang in a cheery voice, “Good Morning, Good Mooorrrning!”
Death is too good for her.
Now, so you future little budding executives don’t fall into the trap I fell into, here are some tips from Forbes.com on office party survival as written by Richard Bayer, COO of career coaching and outplacement firm the Five O’Clock Club.
The crib sheet:
Don’t drink too much.
The golden rule. No matter what the trappings, “the office party is still a business function,” Bayer says with the gravity of a drill instructor. “You can’t ever let down your guard. Even though the setting is a little more personal, you’re not with friends.” The temptation to drink is immense — what with jittery nerves and free eggnog — but keep your eyes on the prize. See it as an opportunity to let your superego flourish. Leave if the compulsion to binge is coming on–or at the very least, make sure your boss is drunker than you are.Get face time with the mega-boss.
Bayer recommends that you prepare a brief statement in advance for the Big Confrontation. When the boss asks how you are doing, don’t just say “fine,” tell him or her what you’re working on. But keep it brief. Pigeonholing anyone, especially a superior, backfires. Still, you probably don’t have a chance to meet the boss often, so see it as a chance to get on the radar screen.Listen, take notes afterward, follow up on personal discussions.
Los Gatos, Calif., career coach Patti Wilson says that just listening intently during a conversation with a key co-worker wins you points, especially with the other distractions of an office party. Find out about someone’s charity pursuits. Write them down after the party. Then, sometime in January, e-mail him or her an article about what you were discussing. This brings you back into that person’s awareness and shows that you put a personal stake in the interaction. Similarly, jot down the names of spouses and children. “Try to ingratiate yourself,” Wilson says. “In this market, people are hired and kept at their companies for their … personal skills.”Don’t talk shop–but never gossip.
Make connections. Confine what you’re working on to one sentence per person. “You don’t want to talk about budgets,” says Office Angels marketing head Sarah Eldoori. “This is a good opportunity to find out about the lives of people you work with. And it shows them that you have a life outside the office.” Read up on current events. Commit elf jokes to memory. But don’t exchange secrets–it’s bound to get back to you–and it could happen that very night.Socialize with spouses.
The secret weapon. Spouses are often easier to talk to because they know no one else there and are receptive to an exchange. You carry no baggage with spouses, unlike most of the other people at the event, so you’re starting on a clean slate. It gives your co-worker a different pairs of eyes to evaluate you by, and reinforces the personal connection.Get out, circulate.
Don’t be the quiet guy who sits in the corner, sullenly clutching a bottle of beer. That approach will only garner suspicion. Even if you’re shy, you should still force yourself to interact with at least the people you deal with at work. There are often nonverbal, social activities you can partake in, like darts or pool.
Just avoid beer games.
That’s the way you are supposed to act. That in any other company but mine will help you politically manipulate your bosses into thinking you are executive timber.
And you can follow those rules or you can be like me and typically not go. The one thing that got me to go was that I might not see many of these people by next Christmas due to probable layoffs. The one thing that kept me from enjoying the party was not seeing my friends that were let go by the people sponsoring the event.
Hence - drunken behavior. I am now officially past the point of caring what upper management thinks about me. Well, maybe not completely, I still sold out and wore a tie. Twelve years is a long time to deprogram what you should and should not wear. Looks like I’ll be drinking this weekend, too. Maybe to forget I lapsed into political correctness.
What can I say? It’s hard for me to agree with either side of the scale. Out of control or political manipulator, either way you give up something.
——————————————————————————–
*- The, now, “Father” Juan Cabrerra
**- In retrospect, the party of 1999 was not as big a blast as I’d hoped considering I was on call for Y2K.
***- $45 for a tie is outrageous.
¥ - The party started at 5:PM.
¥¥ - I knew the area really well as I had been living a couple of blocks away when I was single and just starting my career with the company. Glenn, myself, and 2 others walked from Grove Street to what was formerly the Exchange Place Station. So, we were able to get there quickly.
€- 13 is never a good number.
£- North Arlington is not near Jersey City. One must drive through Kearney in order to get there. It was out of our way because we had to go North then South. It’s like saying Tampa is near Orlando.
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