Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?


Function rooms and ferries everywhere are being hastily booked out in anticipation of the upcoming silly season, says every office manager across the land. Ask them.

But what if you miss out on your booking? Are you going to have to have the party at … the manager’s house?

Erase that negative thinking. There are other options left: the restaurant booking or the in-house party.

The Restaurant Booking

This is usually made at an Indian or Middle Eastern restaurant.  I don’t think the Chinese restaurants are as well-patronized anymore because of the … you know … lazy susan problem.

The restaurant is perfect for the SME and peripheral staff — like the guy from MYOB and the ‘Finchy’ character who reps around the suburbs of East Auckland. He’ll be the first there, with a prop of some sort; perhaps a hilarious Snoop Dogg drinking goblet, or a bag of speed. Who knows?

As the dishes arrive, more and more moderately priced wines are soaked into rice balls, naans, or a hearty korma, surely lining the stomachs for the inevitable Christmas food poisoning episode. Beware the Thursday-night booking.

Later, once rice is liberally sprayed across the table and into small little clutch purses, someone comes up with the brilliant idea of hitting some clubs or pubs and everyone shouts

“let’s go to the Sober Leprechaun!”

A phalanx of office workers of all creeds file into a Catholic drinking bar and begin to fight their way to stage-front where resident band Bollocks O’Shenanigans are playing covers of The Corrs.

All in all, it’s a great night, and apart from the office junior who is wailing over her lost EFT-POS card — she’s pretty sure Finchy used it to cut his stash — all is well.

The In-House Party

Possibly a less sensible idea, but for many reasons still very much a feature of the New Zealand Christmas party scene.

I guess the main advice here is to try to keep the general hub of the party away from areas like the photocopier, the reception area, the stationery carrel, the car park, the boardroom, the Lundia, any computers, company cars, and such.

These parties are usually pretty wild. It’s because there is no human or financial barrier between workers and The Drink.

What else is there to say? Put a time limit on the drinks, make certain they run out really soon rather than at 11pm.

Music-wise, get a professional in rather than going in-house. It’s bound to be a failure as the staff member will bring in his personal laptop loaded with illegally downloaded Tool albums and he will try to sneak in Prison Sex later on. Don’t you worry.

But how to dance to Prison Sex, standing next to your colleagues?

Cast your eye over to your area manager who appears to be digging-in imaginary new season potatoes whilst wearing his work clothes his wife bought for him. That’s how it’s done.

How many jobs will be lost tonight? It’s hard to say. Perhaps at least two.

The swivel chair will be fumigated on Monday as will the leafless Yukka, used callously as a dance pole earlier in the night.

The Arcoroc cups will be back face down on the brown trays on Monday, ready for the scoops of International roast necked down with a silent Round Wine.


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