Join our favorite bartender, Boobs, for her featured drink and best bar story of the month. She hears 'em all, from happy hour to closing time, and proves that sexy and wise are not mutually exclusive. Today's story, Part I of "How to Ruin Your Career Opportunities in One Night," warns of the flip side of free corporate booze. Does excess cleavage, drugs and wanton excess necessarily ruin your career? Stay tuned.

Boobs the Bartender

Featured drink of the month:

The Suicide Cocktail

Drop in Lifesaver. Drink and repeat.

(In preparing this drink the glass is placed on the floor and the mixer stands erect holding the LifeSaver at shoulder height. If she or he misses the glass three times in a row no need to repeat---they don't need another ---not very badly anyway.)

Staff Party or How to Ruin Your Career Opportunities in One Night

Question authority. Resist established order. Two creeds that have worked against me in my navigation of the waters of corporate Canada. Indeed, I've discovered I have a corporate death wish. It's futile for me to try and fit in. However, like most university-educated stooges I believed that a well paying secure job would solve all my problems. We all want job security ---right?

Consider the irony of my first corporate staff party. Working in this company as a casual did not rate an invitation but I had befriended one upstanding employee, Gail a Sales Manager. Gail and I were pals and partners in crime. I hope these many weeks later, she's not regretting her generous impulse to invite me along with her. I won't name the corporation so as not to incriminate others: sufficient to say the company is a hospitality giant once listed as one of the top ten companies to work for. A corporate giant providing overpriced accommodation to millions throughout the world. Trying to get a part of this action caused dollar signs to appear in my eyes instead of pupils. I had strictly good intentions going into this party. I was going to put my best foot forward. I was sick of living below the poverty line and wanted to impress upon the crowd there that I was the kind of employee you didn't let get away.

Common sense dictated the following unwritten laws for attending any staff party:

1. Do not drink to excess.
2. Do not do drugs or make mention of any kind of drugs
3. Do not engage in brutally truthful conversations with anyone
4. Do not expect to have fun
5. Plan on leaving early

Following these rules would have been an excellent idea. I had some vague idea that this party could get me the contacts to be hired full-time with a raise. Simultaneously my unconscious career death wish was urging me to shock and reek havoc. The evening started with what in retrospect was a superbly non-corporate outfit; after all I didn't want to go unnoticed. A sane person would not have added the hair piece or the black lace number that revealed a mile of cleavage. I was satisfied with my look. I went to Gail's place where we met up with Sheena. She was the "date"of one of the high level gay executives and was going to meet up with him there. He was perpetually nervous about revealing his true self to the lads at work. We quickly drank a bottle of wine. (Rule #1-oops!)

The room was permeated with an aura of boredom as we arrived for the tail end of the speech making and award giving. We knew the gal at the door and she slipped us all ten free drink tickets. (Rule #1--- again, eek!) A few rebels were ignoring the official festivities and clustered in the no mans land between the bar and the buffet. We didn't hesitate. We claimed and sucked back numerous drinks to defray that nervous edge. Nothing piqued thirst like free, corporate booze. Finally the dirge like speeches ended and there was a communal rush for the bar. We stood our ground close to the gin bottles.

At that point Sheena had found her "date", and Gail and I were talking sensibly, sympathizing with wives who were attending for their fifth year. The last thing they were expecting was an evening of wantonness and excess. They didn't know that we were just warming up. Rule #1 was almost broken. We nabbed a table and Sheena made one final tour of the room on the arm of her "date" and joined us, flourishing, with scant discretion a joint fit for a Rastaman. Rule #2 was now in danger.

On my way back from the bathroom more than a little high I ran into (literally) a Food and Beverage Manager, a pale and nasty male chauvinist pig. I couldn't resist confirming an informational tidbit. I screamed in his ear that I had heard he was recently assigned a female supervisor. "No sweat," he said. "I've done some of my best work under women, " he leered. At least the creep gave me eight more drink tickets.

Stay tuned for part II in Boob's next column.

Contact Boobs the Bartender at 5a7@avivalasvegas.com. Make sure to put Boobs the Bartender in the subject line.

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