With Christmas just around the corner, it's time to share a few of the stories you folks sent in about your various holiday party failures. LET'S GO.
So every year my boss has our Christmas party at his insanely huge house in suburban Jersey. Seems like every year, it's shitty weather. 3 years ago. We're all there, and of course drinking. It's really cold out and raining really bad. Party is fine, people are heading out little by little. I keep having "one last beer" about 5 or 6 times.
At this point, the only people left at my boss' house are him, his wife, another co-worker around my age and her husband. I go to leave and all is well. His street has no curbs, the houses are on top of the road, and there are no street lights either. It's about 8pm and it's raining pretty hard, but the highway home is 2 blocks from his house. I start to leave, get to the end of his block, turn left and BAM! My car just stops cold and I feel like the car hit something. Can't figure out what though, it's pitch black except for what my headlights are on, and it's just nothing.
So I walk back to boss' house. Me and the co-worker's husband go out to my car to see if he can figure it out in the pouring rain. He gets a flashlight and we look at my car. The front drivers' side wheel is on it's side....but we still can't figure it out. We walk back, call a tow truck from my boss' house, and his wife drives their car around the opposite side of the block to shine put on her headlights to really see everything around my car. I've got a GIANT hole in the side of my car right past the wheel and where the driver's side door starts. There is a huge stream of red paint down the side along with a giant scratch...and there is a big fucking red fire hydrant right on the fucking corner… not even scratched, still standing 100% upright and I felt like it was just taunting me...and remember, there is no curb, no sidewalks, no nothing, can't see shit except for what is directly in front of you. So I turned too early and BAM...my car is fucked.
Tow truck drive gets there and he says "Which one of you was driving, you all reek of booze." Then says, don't worry, I wont tell anyone. Meanwhile, my boss has a full glass of wine with him, out in the rain, and he can't stop laughing at me. Co-worker and wife give me a ride home and I'm pissed...couldn't even get to work the next day because my ride called out sick, probably because of a giant hangover from the party (did I mention that he has the party on a Sunday afternoon/night every year?). And to this day... people some people still make fun of me for hitting a fucking fire hydrant.
One lesson learned though. Now when I see a movie and a car hits a hydrant, and it falls over and water is shooting up in the air like crazy...ALL BULLSHIT! Those things are anchoring in deep and tough as fucking shit. And they will fuck your car up beyond your belief. And lucky for me, the next year, a girl in my office drank too much too fast and puked her guts out all over his entire living room about 1 hour into the party. That living room set probably cost more than any of us made in 5 years combined...so my hydrant accident was pushed to 2nd place for now.
About 22 years ago I was just coming out of a heinous divorce. I was 21 and had just crawled out of an 18 month hell ride that had left me broke and twitching like a Vietnam-era shell shock victim. My best friend had been helping me limp along for a few months and as I was feeling a bit more human, I felt it was time to jump back into the dating pool. He worked at a local department store with scads of single gals in our age range, so I asked him to set me up. Not a problem, he replies, and proceeds to invite me to his department Christmas party. The store itself had a small get together but normally each department head would set up an informal party at an off site location so people could enjoy a drink or two. This one was set up at an Olive Garden in a larger city an hour away.
My buddy picks me up the afternoon of the party and has a couple single co-workers that are making the trip with us. Both girls are cute and up for a few drinks during and after the dinner. We make plans to hit a few bars post-dinner and take things from there. I hit it off well with one of them and we chat the entire hour and seem to be making a decent connection. At this point I should make mention of my vision. It's crap. We're talking Mr. Magoo level of blindness. I'd worn contacts since high school as my glasses were pop bottle thick. You remember those creepy guys in high school with bad vision, wearing those glasses that gave them the beady eyed, two feet back in their head look? That was me. Unfortunately, at this point in time I was without contacts. I had torn one of them and when I tried to wear just one, it would give me crippling headaches and nausea. Being recently divorced and flat broke my options were either show up looking like Steve Urkel's creepy cousin or leave the glasses at home. I pick to leave the glasses behind, I wasn't driving so I figure I can deal with only being able to see three feet in front of me.
We arrive at Olive Garden and meet up with the other fifteen people in the party. Our table isn't ready so my friend and I offer to buy our companions a drink. The girl I'm trying to impress requests a Long Island Iced Tea. I'm normally a beer swilling goon but I decide to have what she's having thinking it will help my chances with her. About half way through our drinks our group is seated and everyone begins chatting and passing Christmas cards to each other. Being a beer swilling meathead, I neglect to even think about bringing a card or two to pass off on the girls. Instead I offer to buy said girl another Long Island. She accepts and I order another round for the two of us. Midway through my second one, I decided that this is my favorite drink ever and begin to knock them back at a competitive alcoholic pace. My companion stops at two but I barrel ahead through my fifth and sixth Long Island thinking that not only are these suckers tasty but I'm not even catching a buzz off of them. Mind you, we've not even got our food yet, we've been at the place for 45 minutes tops.
I finish my sixth drink and decide it's time to break the seal. I discreetly head off to the restroom at the other side of the restaurant. Midway through my piss break, the effects of my new found love of mixed drinks hit me. I go from sober to slurring drunk in what seems like the flip of a switch. No problem, the food is coming, I'll just get some lasagna in me and pull it back together. Then my blind, drunken ass exits the restroom. At this point I notice all the walls are covered in mirrors. I have no clue where our table is and being sightless and shitfaced, every table is nothing but a drunken blur and thanks to the mirrors, it looks three times larger than what it is. I stagger around the place looking for my group while sitting down at three wrong tables in the process. I finally have to resort to standing in the middle of the room while drunkenly shouting my friends name. A waitress comes up to help me but at this point all I can do is bellow like a wounded buffalo. My friend finally leads me back to the table where I am met with dead silence. It turns out that I was about 10 feet from the table and everyone witnessed my escapades.
I ask the girl I was hitting it off with if she would like another Long Island but for some reason she declines and decides to move to the other end of the table. I make it about half way along in my lasagna and then decide I need some air. I tell everyone I'll be right back and proceed to blindly stumble around the parking lot until I find my friends car and pass out in the snow bank in front of it. When they finally finish their meal, my buddy pours me into the car where I spend the hour ride home alternately snoring and sticking my head out the window to vomit while two mortified girls look on in disgust.
My friends and I now hold our own annual Drunken Xmas gatherings where no one looks down upon inebriated shenanigans. The last fifteen plus years have had members of our group experience a broken leg, near divorce, explosive diarrhea in a low class strip joint and one of my friends vomiting so hard that he blew all the blood vessels in his eyeballs.
So my college roommate Jimmy has a super cool boss who invites him and anyone he wants to his Christmas party at his sweet condo. Sounds a little lame, but I say what the fuck: free booze and finger food for a broke college student works every time, right?
Me, Jimmy and his old lady waddle into the party half-drunk and immediately start drinking gin and tonics. Now Jimmy is a little drunken Irish man who can put the suds away, but he almost always get shitfaced and makes a complete ass of himself.
Fast-forward to around 11 and Jimmy has to go upstairs to bed. In his boss' guest room, mind you. An hour or so later we're smoking on the patio and, what do you know, a naked, angry Jimmy comes barreling at the sliding glass doors, screaming all sorts of wonderful, confusing nonsense. I'm a ball of fucking laughter, but his girl is obviously horrified and starts screaming back. This leads to the two of them fighting (with Jimmy still naked) in his boss' kitchen. He eventually concedes and goes back upstairs to bed.
She breaks up with him the next day and he quits the job because he can't bring himself to ever face his boss again.
The bacon-wrapped scallops were good, though.