Women At Work: More Holiday Parties Mean More Problems

Illustration for article titled Women At Work: More Holiday Parties Mean More Problems

It's early mid-December, which means that the offices that still have the dough to hold holiday parties are about to unleash some free booze on their angst-ridden employees. The Root and The New York Post both have articles today about how to avoid humiliating yourself in front of your higher-ups, and the advice basically boils down to: don't forget you're still at work, and don't get too drunkypants. Common sense, but that doesn't always mean that we've always shown our better judgment when boozing with coworkers.


A few jobs ago, I was trying to ingratiate myself with my newish coworkers during the holiday fete. I didn't really fit in and I didn't know anyone particularly well, so I kept trying to join conversations that were already going on. I entered one such convo in media res, and the subject was Wicca. Boorishly, I heard "Wicca" mentioned and blurted out, "Oh my God, do you know any Wiccans? I thought they were all 13-year-old goths." To which one of the conversants responded: "Yes, my wife is Wiccan." Rut roh! I violated one of the major rules of polite workplace relations, which is avoid topics like religion and politics.

But I'm not the only one to have holiday party horrors. A friend really wanted to attend her company's holiday party, and well…there's no way to put it delicately. She had had an abortion earlier that day, and went anyway. She was bleeding heavily and so got drunk off a glass of white wine she had to be taken home. AWKWARD.


That tale is a doozy, but certainly you have your own experiences of drunken workplace calamities. Please, do tell!

Miled' Oh! [NYP]
Office Party Politics [The Root]

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Spaceman Bill Leah

My first holiday party was three days after I started my job so instead of trying to befriend people I got faced on Cape Codders then got yelled at by the parking attendants who thought I actually wanted to drive, dropped off at a gas station by a cabbie who wouldn't take me to the bar where my friends were and finally somehow sliced off the tip of my big toe wandering around the streets looking for said bar while completely barefoot. In December. In Chicago.