So I semi-recently changed offices after a yearlong stint in one of my company’s offices in a different state. As such, I have taken full advantage of two office holiday parties this year. One was hosted by my current office at a new-ish bowling alley/bar/restaurant in the area where your boy carried his wife and the project assistant girls to victory in 3 glorious strings of what may go down as some of my best performances to date. The other was a holiday dinner party at what a commoner such as myself would consider an upscale steakhouse, hosted by the other office where I began my career with the company just one year ago.
This past weekend, myself and a few coworkers in my current office made the trek down to the lovely (read: “terrible”) State of Massachusetts for the dinner party on Friday evening. Of course we hit traffic on 495 and it was stop and go for the last hour and a half, but we eventually arrived at the restaurant where for 2.5 hours I gorged myself with oysters, red wine, and cuts of meat so fine the likes of which caused a slight cramp in my left rear pocket when eyeing the menu. It was okay though, because it was all on the company’s tab.
There is a solid group of us 20-somethings that work together, so naturally, we all wanted to continue the party once everyone else left the joint. Luckily, the surrounding area has quite the selection of bars to choose from, so it wasn’t that difficult finding a place to get some drinks.
Well fast forward through two bars, several miller lattes and $10 worth of the Biebs on the jukebox, we end up at a place downtown that I had never ventured to my entire time living in the area. Hindsight’s 20/20, but there was a reason for that. I am no longer in college.
The place was packed. The music was loud. And the people were not my people. But, fuck it. I had one securely tied on since we left the first bar, and I wasn’t about to let that go to waste. So we got a round of beers and hit the dance floor. It takes no less than 5 minutes to navigate our group about halfway through the crowd to find some real estate. But it was worth it because “Return of the Mack” came on and in an instant that sticky beer soaked floor was my heart and I was tearing it up. Singing into the beer bottle, dropping way too low to be comfortable, and sweating. I was going in deep.
In less time than it took to actually find breathing room on the floor, the song was over and one of my coworkers decided it was a good idea to do shots. No, they didn’t say anything about it. Talking is futile when the music was as loud as it was. So I had to rely on my other sense. I only knew we were sacrificing our stake on the dance floor for something and that something had to be important.
All I knew was that I was following the crew, bumping into bros much bigger than myself, and awkwardly cutting through grinding circles en route to the bar. Being the straggler that I am, I was the last one to make it through the sea of sweaty coeds. My coworkers could see the struggle. They knew what the situation called for. A doctor’s appointment. I threw that thing back knowing full well shots are never a good idea and that I would regret it. But hey, at least we all fit in!
The doctor’s minty freshness had hit the spot and chilled me down. I was so chill, in fact, that had the clout to approach another patron at the bar and ask him, in all seriousness, if he was Jae Crowder. The Celts had just blown a 4th quarter lead and ended up losing to the Hawks, a game I actually watched end at previous bar no more than an hour and a half ago. But Boston was only 45 minutes away, so it could have been him. He informed me that no one had ever asked him that before and that he indeed, did not play for the Boston Celtics.
I was lit. I needed to get out of there. Luckily, lady fate had it that last call was upon us and an Uber had already been called, so I was saved. The rest of the night went well into the early morning, involving pizza, Heads Up, and a homeless person in the hotel lobby.
It was a fun weekend I will admit. However, I do have one request for the next time. Someone make sure I black out because knowing every detail of this experience makes me feel too responsible..
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