Our party was out of control . . . in a good way. There was a lot of drinking, a lot of dancing, and afterwards, there were many shots passed around. Nothing says Merry Christmas like a big shot of Patron.
So . . . my Secret Santa turned out not to be a senior partner as I suspected, but a peer. One who I like very much, and one who’s normally very conscientious. She gave me a nice final gift (iTunes gift card and a bottle of champagne for one), but I’m assuming she couldn’t be bothered with the intermittent trickery. Oh well.
One of my colleagues was dying to bring a date, so she brought a guy who she dated briefly, but with whom things didn’t work out. When he met me, he said “you look SO familiar,” and I started trying to think of where I could have met him before. Then he said “just kidding, I read RedEye, and I read your column.”
Later on, he cornered me and asked me why I was single. I never really have a good answer for that question, so I was thinking of a snappy little retort. But it didn’t matter, because he kept talking. He spewed a bunch of compliments, and told me that if I wanted to get laid, I could do it in 10 minutes flat (charming guy, right?). I replied that if I wanted to get laid by a creep (hint, hint), I’m sure I could.
Then, his date, my colleague, walked up and said — in front of him — “haven’t you figured it out yet? He’s trying to find a way to communicate that he wants to go out with you.”
Okay . . . THAT was weird. I switched topics abruptly and excused myself from the conversation. WTF? I would be MORTIFIED if my date (especially one that I’ve slept with in the past month) started hitting on a coworker at my holiday party.
Jeez!!!
