Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas: Southern Hospitality (12/14/2007)

The holiday season brings many special things to New York: snow, tourists, the Rockettes and one enormous tree. But what I look forward to is an event that is not unique to New York alone: the company holiday party. There is nothing that brightens my holiday spirit like hearing the tales of the inappropriate behavior that took place at corporate functions after too many glasses of holiday cheer.

Over the years, I had managed to steer clear of most of the shenanigans, but the year of my fourth company party there was one obstacle in my way; Hector. Hector was a co-worker that I had developed a heavy flirtation with over the previous three months. I was sure that when an open bar was thrown into the mix, the flirtation would lose all the subtlety that shielded me from becoming office gossip.

The party started pretty simply, with dinner at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Three hours passed quickly and soon the men were emerging from a cloud of cigar smoke to learn that the party was ending. This was met with protest, so it was decided that we would continue the party on the corporate tab at Southern Hospitality. Of course first was the issue of getting uptown. After fifteen minutes of unsuccessful attempts at hailing at cab on 6th avenue, I did something I will be forever ashamed of. I got in a pedicab.

Pedicabs are New York’s version of a rickshaw and only marginally less ridiculous. Some poor individual pedals a bicycle trussed to what I can only refer to as an adult sized stroller. You will never see a New Yorker in a pedicab. In fact you will rarely see anyone in a pedicab. But In a fit of desperation, we climbed in and had the cyclist pedal three grown adults more than twenty blocks uptown. He was sweating and out of breath by the time he dropped us off. I decided that I should start a diet first thing in the morning.

After I squeezed my way into Justin Timberlake’s recently opened bar, I was pleased to see that Hector had managed to make it uptown as well (but I didn’t mention how I got there). Several minutes later our VP handed me a shot, something I couldn’t refuse. I also couldn’t refuse the next two shots he handed me, so when shot number four came around, I decided it was best to move away from him. This is how I found my way to Hector, where I chose to stand much closer to him then necessary.

All the shots of Patron turned me into Mae West and I leaned again him purring innuendos. I’m fairly certain that at one point when he asked where he was suppose to put his empty glass, I batted my eyes and answered; “You can put it anywhere you want”, an offer that would not have stood up if tested.

My other co-workers were consuming alcohol at a rapid pace and paying little attention to words coming out of my mouth or the location of Hector’s hands. The only thing I was focused on was how to get rid of Hector’s roommate, who had chosen to stop by during my “I’m No Angel” impression. While I was thinking over the best course of action, I downed another shot and quickly ended up on in the bathroom vomiting into JT’ nicely decorated toilet stall.

When I crawled off the floor and went back to the bar, only my boss and two other co-workers were still there. I put on my best sober face and went with them to get pizza. My phone beeped and I read Hector’s last four text messages, then put the phone down, too worn out to respond and wondering if there was a pedicab nearby that could take me home.

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