a truly hilarious company holiday party story, told in bullet points — Ask a Manager

I love me some bullet points, so here goes my holiday nightmare. Picture this:

* I was in my early twenties, with my first grown-up job, coinciding with my first house (rental, but it counted).

* I learned the gazillionaire owner of our company elected not to provide a holiday party.

* I decided to be a hero and open my OWN HOME to my co-workers, thereby providing cheer to all, while kissing up to management.

* I also decided to ignore the fact I had only moved into the house on December 1st, and the party needed to happen on the 15th….

* ….while purposely forgetting I had 79 coworkers, all of whom were noted to have iron-clad livers from many a Happy Hour (used car dealership, if it matters). The resources I checked swore that no more than 30% of those invited would likely show in the busy month of December, so I not only invited all 79, but their spouses and significant others. (Yes, it still hurts to admit this.) I was the youngest of the 79 employees by at least 10 years, with all the rest between 35-65 years of age.

* One co-worker (I am still ticked at her, so I will name and shame), SHEILA, decided to have mercy on me and volunteered to co-host. I happily agreed without bothering to nail down what “co-host” meant to SHEILA. At the moment the party started, she had not yet assisted in any way whatsoever.

* Since this was Minnesota in the 1990s, the “womenfolk” of the dealership agreed to provide the food and the rest was BYOB. (Mama didn’t raise no fool, my friends!) (Okay, so she did.) I slaved over my contributions, and everyone else brought chips and more salsa than Texas has ever sold in a month.

* I decorated every inch of my tiny, one-bedroom house, while also unpacking. I had beautiful lighting, Christmas music playing softly, and it even started snowing, just enough to be perfect!

* While I was smugly glowing in my Martha Stewart moment, the guests arrived…all at the same time, as if they were air-dropped by demonic forces.

* How many showed? 78. (The 79th person – the owner – had better plans. And really – didn’t we all?) Luckily, many didn’t bring their better halves, mostly because a shocking number were having affairs with each other, something no one had clued me in on.

* My co-host, SHEILA, was having an affair with our Sales Manager who showed up five minutes after she did, gifted her with raunchy lingerie, and whisked her away for the rest of the evening (but only after telling me to cover them with their respective spouses, should they call).

* None of my invitees remembered to bring glasses, but lucky me, I had already unpacked my grandmother’s vintage china, which they were able to locate all on their own, so they drank their Jack from tea cups. Very fragile teacups.

* And drink they did! When my fancy-pants appetizers ran out, and then all the chips, there was nothing left to balance the booze. Picture a tiny house filled with over 100 people, all drinking, and no food. At one point, I wandered around with a loaf of Wonderbread, gently offering toast to one and all. (Actually, just the bread itself….someone had moved the toaster off the counter to make room for the booze and it took me a week to locate it again.)

* I wasn’t even getting a true picture of how bad the scene was degrading, because 3/4 of my coworkers smoked. As it was December in MN, opening the windows wasn’t really possible, and the air took on a fog-like appearance, which I tried to convince myself was romantic.

* After a couple hours, I heard the most horrific crash, and then multiple thuds, another crash, more thuds, and so forth. Turns out, my boss’ husband decided he would “skate” downstairs to my basement, by lifting one leg in the air, and placing a large glass ashtray under the other foot. He attempted this three times (never clearing more than one step) before I gently suggested my boss should perhaps/possibly/maybe consider taking him home. This suggestion was not well received.

* By now, everyone had had their fill of Christmas music, but thankfully, a guest had the forethought to bring an Anthrax cd, among other metal music, which melded nicely with the cancer-inducing air, and the mosh pit now assembling in my living room.

* At one point, I joined my dogs in my large bedroom closet (tellingly, they had no interest in joining the party, once Johnny Mathis’ comforting carols were replaced by koЯn). I decided to remain in there with them, until my get-together was either busted by the cops or the Lord called me home. Neither happened.

* At midnight – five hours after the party began – I decided I never wanted to see any of these people again, and told them all to leave. Immediately. Over and over. I turned up all the lights, shut down the “music”, and put on old lady pajamas (I had read that trick in Good Housekeeping). Nothing worked until I rounded up all the partially full liquor bottles and heaved them out the back door, into a snow bank. I refrained from yelling, “Fetch!”

* It was then that I noticed the vibrant yellow ring in the snow all the way around my house. It was the color of a highlighter pen, forming a perfect circle. In my fatigue and smoke-dulled senses, it took a bit to notice the footprints next to the ring and I suddenly realized why I never witnessed any guy exiting my (single) bathroom. They had all decided to relieve themselves outside, bless them?

* The landscaping pee ring was my final straw. I collected myself, stormed back inside, and loudly announced that the party was over and everyone had two minutes to exit. Jackets would be collected and dispersed at work on Monday. GET. OUT.

* (I should note that sending people away after seeing them get so inebriated was not a good move on my part, and I would never be party to that today. But as I was the youngest person on staff, and naive, and totally without hope they were ever going to leave, please forgive.)

* After everyone left, around 12:30, I started cleaning. I finished just shy of 9 am, and had to twice run to the store for more cleaning supplies. Someone had sex in my bed, broken beer bottles on my floor, torn drapes, unplugged my fridge (I heard they wanted to get it colder, faster), vomited in various places that my dogs found first, etc. It was a crime scene, and I knew all the suspects.

* The following Monday, I received much appreciation from all, none of whom appeared to remember how I literally lost my cool and threw them out. The gazillionaire owner shook my hand, thanked me for my team spirit, and handed me $20.

* And the pee ring? I had forgotten about it that night and went to bed once I was done cleaning. My landlord stopped by that afternoon, to tell me he was back from vacation (he lived next door, and I was watching his house); he saw the urine and uncomfortably asked me if I was having issues with the plumbing. I ignored the insult that he thought I might squat and pee outdoors in a perfect ribbon like a lunatic, and since I was not allowed to have parties, I told him my dogs evidently were marking their territory and I would speak to them.

* I remained at the dealership for three additional years, and was begged to host the holiday party each season. I finally said I would if koЯn agreed to play the event live. I figured it would be the only way I could top the first (and last) “Stella70’s Holiday Extravaganza.” (And yes, that is actually what I had called it. Cringe.)