|
|
The Christmas Party. A long forgotten phenomenon. As wild a shop as this used to be (drunken card games, used tires tossed down the narrow hallway, liberal use of fireworks... I should give details on how to rig timed fuses), what passes for "parties" is a lame, pale excuse, these days. I guess the aging process, aided by withdrawal from substance abuse and rampant Republicanism has pretty much killed any thoughts of making new memories among those who would consider such things. Cowards. The present definition of "Christmas Party," is a plate of cold cuts bought at the grocery up the street... dispensed at lunch time. With the cold, dead eyes of the Overseer (aka "the Cracker," aka "Uncle Fester") boring into the back of my neck. Whoop-de-fuckin'-doo. The last print shop I graced with my presence, many moons ago, would pop for a dancehall, DJ, and mixers for the favorite beverages... alcohol was tolerated, bless their hearts. I dimly recall booming requests from the monitors, sneaky trips to the parking lot, pleasant fleshy encounters, and stories to tell the grandchildren about. Meeting, and having a good time with people only occasionally approached. Plus, if we were working the day before the holiday... we were lit up like the tree before noon. Ah, reverie! And, don't forget the hangovers, commenced on the couch of a friend's house... followed by a trip to somplace that cooked nice and greasy, and brewed up plenty of high-octane coffee. In short, adventure. A little embarrasment. Blackouts. An exclamation point for the end of the year. SOMEthing. Political Correctness and Fiscal Responsibility... cruel assassins of creative events. Maybe it's time to move on to more challenging pastures... ...that still have some life left in them. |
|
|
