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
Staff Party!
Or How To Ruin Your Career
Opportunities In One Night
THIS WEEK: PART II OF STAFF PARTY...for Part I go to archive:
When we last heard from our narrator she was busy breaking
the 5 rules of corporate success at her company staff party:
- Do not drink to excess
- Do not do drugs or make mention of any kind of drugs
- Do not engage in brutally truthful conversations with
anyone
- Do not expect to have fun
- Plan on leaving early
She and her wild pals Sheena and Gail had (thanks to a liberal
application of free drink tickets) been drinking and smoking
like unrehabilitated rock stars at a corporate staff party.
Her story continues...
Rule #2 was under siege as we started getting a nice alcohol
buzz. "I wanna smoke a joint. I wanna smoke a joint now!"
Sheena shrieked.
Smoking a joint seemed a lovely way to heighten our sense
of fun. (Rule #4 ---shot.) We asked a waiter friend to point
out who he knew that indulged. The word spread that the chicks
at table twelve were looking for smoke. (Rule #3?)
We also started making eyes at likely candidates. At the
table next to us we caught the startled eye of a juicy looking
guy. He misinterpreted our intentions after we lured him to
our table and was startled by our exclamations of how much
we loved pot. He thought it was a bizarre form of corporate
entrapment and shortly afterward left the party.
I was grabbed and given a bear hug by the hotel's union president.
Her embrace pulled off my hair-piece and gave us both a good
laugh. It wasn't too comfortable standing with a hank of fake
hair in my hand.
A quick exit to the bathroom for repairs revealed a drunken
chambermaid marooned in a bathroom stall --too drunk to figure
out how to work the door. She was begging for someone to crawl
under and help her. I pleaded petticoat problems and left
feeling that we weren't the only women out of control at this
party.
I returned to our table with one of those ideas that seem
funny when you've had a few drinks. I began inserting swizzle
sticks into my bouffant. I thought the effect would get a
laugh and help me keep track of the number of gin and tonics
I was ingesting.
We chatted with some Room Service types and they handed me
a few drink tickets for old time's sake. The music videos
were becoming louder and danceable. The swizzle sticks once
inserted were just about impossible to get out. I was stuck
with ten or more plastic sticks projecting from my head. Oddly,
no one seemed to notice.
Sheena bellowed, "Let's all dance! Who cares if we have partners!"
My pals were immediately and magically paired up with partners
when we hit the dance floor. I danced with the wall full skirt
flying and my fake long hair hitting innocent bystanders in
the teeth as they tried to carry on conversations. I felt
fluid, at one with the philosophy of Martha Graham.
An ill-fated Conga Line was attempted. I finally had a partner
in the world's oldest Shipping Receiver. He was 60 if he was
a day. I spotted my boss and wildly hugged this man I had
only previously treated with the utmost reserve. I assured
him I'd never reveal the true extent of his drinking problem
(Rule #3-ouch.)
Then back at the table for a breather. I suggested loudly
to the morose couple sitting across from me that they might
as well have an affair. "Everyone in the office already thinks
you're sleeping together!" I shrieked over the music. (Rule#3--double
ouch.).
By about 2:00 am (Rule #5) we started to get the munchies.
Unfortunately, by this late hour the buffet was down to a
selection of pastry and sweets. We were so drunk that we all
began loading our evening bags with chocolate rum balls. You
can imagine what the inside of our purses looked like the
next day.
We realized as we headed for the door that we were going
to be amongst the last few people to leave. The bar had closed
and I had blown any possibility of being considered serious
management material.
Somehow I talked a group of middle management women to join
us at a nearby bar for a closing time drink. I took them to
a sleazy gay bar called BJ's (short for blow-jobs). They didn't
stay with us for long. "I have young children!" one woman
screamed as she ran for the exit past a group of bare bummed
men in black leather chaps.
Sheena, Gail and I stayed on for a couple of shots of tequila,
discussed positions we preferred to achieve orgasm, and closed
the place down. Looking back at my ancient high school yearbook
the other day I was surprised to read under the "Fondest Dream"
section I had written "Corporate Executive". I had jokingly
provided my "Probable Fate" as "Welfare Recipient". It's not
quite so funny now, especially after that party.
Nevertheless I am getting closer to discovering the power
that comes with knowing your true self. As for those rules
sensible types will keep them and others like me should consider
what a ball you can have breaking them.
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Hello to my fellow booze hounds. In honor of my
trip to Manhattan enjoy my drink for March, also featured
in this months issue of avivalasvegas. Hope to bring
you bar stories with that New York twist for my next
column!
The Algonquin Bar Punch
1/2 teaspoon of sugar
1 jigger of slow gin
1/4 jigger of Jamaican rum
1 jigger Lemon juice
2 dashes of raspberry syrup
Stir and pour into a tall glass with cracked ice. Dress with fruit.
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Contact Boobs the Bartender at 5a7@avivalasvegas.com.
Make sure to put Boobs the Bartender in the subject line.
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