When it comes to office parties it’s all fun and games until somebody decides to hit the sauce a little too hard. These workers share the scandalous thing that went down at their office holiday party.
They Hit the Sauce and Lost Their Jobs
“In the late 1980′s, my spouse and I attended his company’s formal Christmas party at a large event hall. Everyone received two free drink tickets, followed by a cash bar. Most people were aware that this was a corporate affair and behaved accordingly.
One couple had a serious ongoing drinking problem, which was an issue at every event until the husband was laid off. At this particular event, the wife drank so much that her behavior for the evening was like watching a train crash in slow motion. She was ‘feeling no pain’ when she made a pass at my husband in the lobby, in full view of everyone. She went up behind him and pinched his bottom, offering to share her charms.
Sadly, I missed it as I was in the lady’s room. Two other wives came rushing to find me and started the conversation with, ‘There you are! You are going to be SOOO mad!’ I asked why what happened. When they told me that the wife had pinched my husband, as they awaited my explosion, I surprised them by bursting out laughing! They could not believe I was not mad. I told them to give me a real threat and we could talk.
I went and found my husband, sneaked up behind him, leaned into his shoulder, and whispered, ‘Heard you got your butt pinched!’ I laughed. He immediately shuddered and said ugh, yes. I laughed some more.
As this exchange took place, literally at the same time, I glanced up and saw the wife sitting in a chair in the lobby. As I watched she lost her balance, while sitting down, and fell out of the chair. She was wearing her teenage daughter’s gold lame halter mini dress and it slid up around her waist! Her legs were spread wide in a V shape, her dress bunched around her waist, and her upper body weaved back and forth. Thank goodness she had on pantyhose, or who knows what we would have seen. I was trying to tell hubby, but truly I was speechless. I kept nudging him with the back of my hand and pointing. Not my best moment.
The head of HR and another person picked the wife up and took her to the ladies’ room to get her straightened up. I lost track of her after that. And I have no idea where her husband was during all of this.
Our night continued and we eventually went home somewhat early (10:30 pm). The following Monday hubby heard the rest of the story at work.
The husband was almost as wasted as the wife. He was stumbling around hitting on women and making a nuisance of himself. Meanwhile, the wife continued to drink and eventually was unable to walk. She passed out in a stall in the ladies’ room. The head of HR had to get her brother-in-law, the senior VP of the office, to help her carry the wife out to a waiting limo and ship the couple off to their hotel.
Hubby and I helped load them into cars, along with their inebriated friends. As they were driven away the husband was hanging out the window yelling, ‘Dougie! You and Susan meet us at Joe’s house. The party’s not over!’
As we stood in the parking lot waving them off, I said to hubby, ‘I have had enough of that crew to last me until the Christmas party.’ He agreed. We turned around and the senior VP was right behind us. I was embarrassed that he had heard my comment until he spoke. He looked at me and said, ‘Me too. But I have to see them on Monday.’
When layoffs started they were the first to go. They had no idea that social behavior affects professional advancement.
We were friends with the VP, his wife, and his sister-in-law for years until they left the area. The swinger couple was always a source of amazement and amusement between us.”
“I worked at Nintendo of America, in Redmond, Wa. The Christmas party was always a suit-and-tie affair at a swanky downtown hotel. Two employees would dress up as Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and you could get a photo taken with them.
My co-worker, Chuck, is a six-foot-two psychopath with a limp mohawk. He has tattoos up and down each arm and rides a motorcycle. He’s also the son of a local car dealer magnate, so he’s got a bit of the spoiled rich kid attitude that he can get away with anything.
Chuck and I worked in the Nintendo call center, where we told people how to beat video games all day long. It was the only job I’ve ever done better stoned than sober. It’s also one of the few jobs where they give you a game system at your desk and ask you to play while you work.
Back to the Christmas party; Chuck is hammered, despite the sauce being doled out at the rate of two drink tickets per person. When he gets to the photo opportunity with Mr & Mrs Claus, he stands facing Mrs. Claus (back to the camera), swaying slightly, then drops to his knees, sticks his head under her skirt and yells, ‘Take the picture!’
He was led off company property by a security guard the next day.”
The Employees Helped Themselves!
“Long ago I worked for a Home Healthcare company that had all kinds of dysfunction, dishonesty, and greed.
The executives of the 125 person company announced a Christmas Party. The party got off to its cheesy start with the usual thank-you-we-broke-all-records speech (no bonuses for us) with a cash bar opened to serve us. The company didn’t even comp the first drink for us!
As I stood at the bar waiting for the bartender, one of the wives whose husband was a senior manager strutted up to the bar. I looked her over and noticed her name tag, something we all were required to but hated to wear as we knew everyone. The bartender stopped making my order and spun to her for hers. She slurred out something and I just waited. Then the bartender put her order up on the counter… and I saw him look down at her ‘alluring’ dress. I thought he was checking her out but now his eyes fixed on her name tag and he looked up at her and said ‘no charge’. She flitted away into the merriment.
Wait a minute.
I noticed that her name tag had a little snowman sticker on the bottom corner. My wheels started turning and I made a quick trip around the tables, nodding at the big shots. I noticed that all of them have little Christmas-themed stickers on their name tags; Santa, Candy Canes, Rudolph, etc. I sauntered back to the bar and sure enough, the bartender was slyly looking at the name tags and everyone with a sticker had their drinks paid by the company. Those cheap pricks!
I went back to my table and told everyone what was happening and they all were ticked off- not only by the sheer cheapness but also by the Caste system these ‘executives’ threw down on us, even at our Holiday party. One of the secretaries who had spent all her purse cash and looked like she had, stood up swaying and announced she had an idea.
She ran out of the door, into the winter night in her sequined party dress and heels, moving like a poorly decorated and wobbling Christmas Tree. In 10 minutes she was back and had a small bag from a nearby convenience store. She discreetly opened it and pulled out a roll of Holiday stickers! Not the same ones but who cared? Not the bartender. She stuck them on all of our tags, then went on to two other tables. She didn’t even tell the other tables what the stickers meant, they had Holiday characters and in their semi-inebriated state, everyone was jolly after that.
So off we went; emblazoned with our new badges of subliminal protest. We started the second assault wave on the bar like pirates, the bartender glancing at our name tags saying ‘no charge’ over and over.
…A couple of the management, smoking stoggies no less, walked up to refill and saw that free drinks were flowing. Flowing now to the overly thirsty and even more festive 20 something crowd. We had a great time and drank all of the top-shelf stuff.
Nothing could be said. Nothing ever was said.”
Dumb Husband Should’ve Kept His Mouth Shut
“It was our Christmas party and the staff had decided to have a sit-down meal in a local restaurant.
My Managers Clerk, a lovely lady who I won’t name (for reasons that will become obvious), had brought her husband. I bought the first round of drinks and was standing at the bar getting everyone’s orders when he came up to chat and tell me what he wanted.
‘Snakebite, please mate,’ (a mix of brew and cider), but when the barman began pulling the pint, he pointed at an empty ice bucket and told him to fill it up, then carried it back to our table.
My wife gave me a filthy look, as he proceeded to drink straight out of the bucket. As my Managers Clerk worked closely with me, it was natural for both her and her husband to sit opposite us. She’d recently come back from maternity leave after having their first child.
As the evening progressed, her husband became seriously wasted. My wife was expecting (roughly two months pregnant at the time) so the conversation between the two women naturally migrated to childbirth and whether I would be there at the birth like her husband had been for her.
At this point, he butted in.
‘Yeah, she had to be cut to get the little bugger out, so while they were stitching her fanny up I told ‘em to put a few more stitches in to tighten her up a bit.’
The look on his poor wife’s face was one of horror and embarrassment at her awful, uncouth husband.
How my wife didn’t punch him on the nose I don’t know, but it was many, many years before she accompanied me to any more bank functions.
Although I lost contact with her over the years, I did discover that my Managers Clerk divorced him several years later.”
The Story of Debby’s Bush
A wee while ago I had a temp boss (Debby). As a boss she had a good sense of humor, so the pranks in the workplace came thick and fast. In one prank a colleague (Reon) and I got all the potted plants on our floor and stacked them on and around her desk. Not a great prank but funny enough at the time. I took a few cellphone pics of the resulting ‘jungle’.
Fast-forward to just before the temp boss is about to finish up and leave. We go out for dinner. We’re all a little liquored up. I get my cellphone out and find the pictures of the ‘jungle’. I wave it around at all who are interested.
‘Look!’ I say, ‘Debby’s bush!’
She’s sitting opposite, so I’m looking straight at her as she realizes what it is I just said. The shock starts to spread across her face.
Quick as a whip, Reon pipes in.
‘It needs a trim!’
Meltdown. Absolute abject meltdown! Debby just breaks down into laughter. I can’t control myself either. We laugh. Long and hard. Then we get over it and finish the evening. Then we head home.
For the purposes of this story, it’s important to note that where I live is in a cellular black spot. This means I’m really, really lucky simple text messages can get in and out to our place. If at all.
I had forgotten this, and not wanting to lose that humourous moment in my inebriation, on getting home, I text Reon with ‘Debby’s bush needs a trim!’ and then fell into a woozy sleep. Not realizing that my text hadn’t actually been sent.
Up I get in the morning go to work. Unbeknownst to me, the text sends from my cellphone when I emerge from the ‘black spot’ and back into cell range. I don’t realize this has happened. And even if I did – what’s the big? It’s still funny.
I’ll tell you what the big is.
I got to work that day and Reon’s face is in his hands. He looks very grumpy and dour. ‘What’s up with you?’ I ask. ‘I left my cellphone at home!’ he replies. ‘Oh?’ ‘My wife got your text,’ he says, ‘then she called me up.’ He puts on a falsetto voice: ‘Who is Debby and how do you know her bush needs trimming?!?!’
This Woman was in HEAT
“I just started working at a restaurant and hadn’t really known my co-workers for more than a week or so. The Christmas party was at the home of my new manager, a very attractive young woman.
I went to the party with a guy I had met at work (We’ll call him J) who was super attractive, and we had picked up Trojans and whipped cream on the way to the party, anticipating heading back to J’s house later. I was a little amped up and nervous, so I had a couple of glasses of red rose in quick succession upon arrival at the party.
Then my manager’s husband pulls out his four-foot water pipe, and I’m like ‘I got this and took a huge rip and choked on it. Straight to my head. I hadn’t eaten yet, either.
So I head out the balcony, high as heck, to try to clear my head. J comes out and tries to see if I’m okay, and as far as I can explain it, at that moment I basically felt like the universe was expanding through my chest and I had to release all of my muscles completely so I wasn’t in pain. I fell through the stars and the night sky in my high-as-heck mind whilst the universe simultaneously came through me and spread out before me. It was AWESOME. To the outside observer, I had dropped my glass of rose and was rolling in it on the balcony floor while moaning ‘let go let go let go…’
I come to and crawl inside, where I announce very loudly to the 20-25 people in the front room that if they want to learn the secret of the universe, they could watch me have shag J. They are stunned into silence as you can imagine, so I try to seduce them into believing me by leaning against the wall and lifting my shirt and rubbing my chest, thinking then maybe they would see what I meant. J, horrified, quickly ushers me out the front door to take me home.
I fall down the front stairs of her second-story apartment, and see my boss come outside to make sure I was alright. I proposition her for a threesome, which she turns down, then drives myself home like a freaking idiot, almost running over J who was trying to stop me.
To the credit of my manager, the next day when I went into work, thinking I would rather kill myself than show up, she was totally cool about the whole thing. She called me into the office and explained that she understood that these things happen and that I would have to pay for her Berber carpet that I had ruined by crawling on it after rolling in my red vino on the balcony. She also told me that I wasn’t too far off in propositioning her as she maybe would’ve had a threesome with J and me if she hadn’t been married.”
“The Best Sales Meeting Ever.”
I left the company party early. I am not much of a party commando. I went home, which was only about five minutes from the office, and went to bed.
At about one o’clock in the morning, my phone rang. It was the VP of Sales. ‘Get to the Courtyard, quick!,’ he yelled, ‘Hurry!’ And he slammed down the phone.
What the heck?
I was half asleep but got up, brushed my teeth, put on my suit and tie and jumped into my car. It was pouring rain. As I approached the Norwood Courtyard Marriot I saw the lights of the fire engines and police cars. I couldn’t get up the road. I parked on Route One and hopped out of the car with my umbrella. As I approached the Courtyard I noticed all the guests standing in their pajamas and coats standing miserably in the rain, huddling as close to the canopy as they could. The epilepsy-inducing strobe lights in the hotel were going off in every corridor. The honking of the alarms was ear-shattering. I had gotten there just as the engines, and before the police.
Underneath the carport leading to the front lobby were two large men grappling on the ground, cursing and punching, their white dress shirts torn and muddy and covered in blood. These men were having at it. The firemen ignored them and entered the lobby of the hotel. The soaking, sullen guests were watching the fight with undisguised hatred.
The man on top was our top salesman, a big man out of Texas, with a big mouth and a big need to be loaded and ‘be right’. The man on the bottom was our top salesman from England, a large-mouthed sloshed braggart of the first sort who liked to insult the French – and the Americans, but who made book month after month.
As I watched in horror from under my umbrella the two top salesmen in the country were pounding the heck out of each other in a puddle of mud under the carport of the Marriott Courtyard. Inside the lobby the firemen were turning off the alarms. Smashed furniture and broken vases were everywhere. The night clerk was sobbing in the arms of another hotel employee.
A group of men strode up to me in messed up suits, ties askew, the rest of our sales force, all here for the annual sales meeting. They were all wasted but they stood there with me and watched the fight – and cheered.
Finally, the cops arrived. They came out with their nightsticks and started pulling the two men apart. Neither would have it and fought the cops with snarls and curses as they fought each other. Their faces were a mess of blood and bruises. Their expensive ties were destroyed as each man attempted to grab them and pull the other into his fist. Eventually, the police broke them up and pulled them apart. There was yelling and kicking and pointing and threats as the cops dragged them away.
The salesmen looked at me with smirks and wide smiles. This was the greatest thing that had ever happened at a company sales meeting – ever. They were boisterous and chatty. The guests were still standing silently in the pouring rain until the firemen let them file back into the lobby. There’s no real bar in a Marriott Courtyard and what serves for a bar closes early. Apparently, a group of salesmen had headed out after the company dinner in search of a bar. There are many bars in Norwood and apparently, they found one. After a night of extremely heavy drinking feelings were easily hurt. The two most aggressive salesmen in the company had always hated each other. During the day they had cagey smiles and veiled insults for each other. But once the sauce flowed, the gloves came off.
The cops came outside.
‘Who’s in charge of these men?’ they asked. The salesmen all pointed at me. I was the only one sober with a tie still tight up against his neck. I was 28-years-old. I gulped.
‘I’m not in charge,’ I said, ‘I was sent here by the company.’
‘These men are in serious trouble,’ the cop said. I put up my hands. What the heck was I going to do? I didn’t know jack about stuff like this. And then the VP of Sales strode up. He was in a trench coat with a white shirt but no tie. He had driven from his home at top speed, calling me on the way because I lived so close. I don’t know what the heck he thought I could do. Meanwhile, the salesmen behind me were all laughing and clapping me on the back. As soon as they saw the grim face of the VP they shut up and looked down like bad schoolboys. The VP looked at me and said, ‘You can go home now.’ And then he turned to the cop.
I looked at the salesmen from under my umbrella as they stood there in the rain, wasted, laughing, eyes shining with excitement.
‘What an excellent sales meeting,’ one of them said happily. I walked back to my car and went home.
The next day both of the men were at the meeting. They looked bad, very bad. I don’t know what the VP said or did. He had to bail them out, smooth it over. The company had to take responsibility for the damage. I have no idea how the company wasn’t thrown out of the Marriott Courtyard, yet here they all were in the meeting room, silent, hung over, and embarrassed. Some engineer was making a speech. No one was paying attention.
By all accounts, it was the best sales meeting ever.
The Mess of The Party
“Years ago, working at a large company, our team learned that sometime prior, someone had reserved a party venue for us, and the reservation was due to expire at the end of the year. So instead of letting it expire, we decided to have a second, unofficial holiday party.
Our party started at 11 am. We ate brunch, and then took turns selecting gifts from the collection of wrapped presents we’d brought in and piled up in the center of the room. Unsurprisingly, most of the gifts were bottles of spirits, and unsurprisingly we proceeded to open one after another. By 1 pm, when we needed to vacate the space, most of us were already pretty wasted. We adjourned to a bar, and then another bar.
One of my colleagues, very inebriated, slurred about how he’d recently gotten married. Yay! we shouted back. Encouraged, he made a joke about refusing to be shackled to just one woman for the rest of his life. Then he removed his wedding ring and tossed it over his shoulder into the crowded bar. As far as I know, he spent the rest of the evening on all fours, searching for it.
A little later, I noticed the wife of another coworker looking pretty queasy. Worried that she’d toss her cookies in the crowded bar, I asked her if she wanted to go outside for some fresh air. She nodded, and I helped her to the door. She was wobbly and began to slump more and more with each step. By the time we were outside the bar, I was basically holding her up.
‘Where’s Tyler?’ I asked (referring to her husband). ‘Right there,’ she said. I followed her finger and saw him, passed out on the hood of a parked car, limbs spread wide and mouth open to the moon and stars.
Just then, she went almost totally limp, and I shook her gently to wake her. ‘Let’s walk a bit,’ I said. She nodded, and I walked her half a block to the corner. She went limp again, and I shook her again. And again. But she didn’t wake up. So now I’m standing on a random city corner, half a block from my party, with my friend’s wife unconscious and sliding through my grasp. I scooped her up in my arms and walked back to the bar. A couple of my coworkers were outside. ‘Who’s that?’ one asked.
It’s Kate. Tyler’s wife’ I said.
While we were trying to decide what to do next, a woman walking by stopped to ask me about Kate who was still unconscious in my arms. ‘I’m a nurse,’ she said, ‘and you need to get her to a hospital.’
So, we called 911. An ambulance came and hauled both Tyler and Kate away. They recovered.”
Things Were Different Back In The 70s
“Back in the 1970s… I was 20-years-old, worked for a large company, and attended one of their parties. This was back when the drinking age in New Jersey was 18, so I was drinking along with the rest of the staff.
There was a very attractive divorcee in her mid to late 30s. I thought she was super hot but much too old for me. So here I am at the party, just hanging out sipping a brew when she walked over to me. More like she staggered over, she was a few drinks ahead of me. Without any hesitation, she grabs me and starts making out with me. I was totally shocked and totally amazed as she fully thrust her tongue in my mouth and grabbed for my crotch! Nothing like this had ever happened in my young life. The things fantasies are made of!
Pretty quickly, two women grabbed her off me and carted her away, leaving me still trying to comprehend what happened, but with a smile on my face. The following Monday she found me and apologized, I told her no apology necessary!
That being the 1970s, a lot of inebriated silliness took place, so there were no repercussions, it all was laughed off and quickly forgotten.
That left me with this memory, and fantasies of what could’ve happened next!”