Christmas Party Out of Bounds It was as slow as a mid week day could be. Not a soul sitting at the bar. As a result I spent most of the first half an hour leaning against the wall in the back server station sipping coffee and reading the postings on the employee bulletin board. I heard the drink ticket printer rumble to life making its kat-chak-ka sound as it sounded out each syllable of the drink order. I rounded the corner and peeled it off its base, just in time to see a couple sit at the far end of the bar. Sometimes good service is a product of being in the right place at the right time. I greeted them with a nod, and then made the multi-syllabic drink order for my dining room server before heading down to take their order. It was obvious from the first interaction that they wanted to be left alone. No direct eye contact with me, a quick order and a wave away of the appetizer menu was all that I needed to know that they didn't want to be bothered. Good service is sometimes less service. I was just about to round the corner for my bulletin board leaning spot when another customer approached the other end of the bar. I recognized him immediately. A cordial greeting and a drink order later… "My company cancelled its Holiday party this year," he said. "Last year's was out of control," he continued. "It was supposed to boost morale, and instead one of the partners got into an argument with the other one's wife and it just deteriorated from there." "Office parties often get out of control," I said sympathizing. "Really?" he said. "Have you ever seen one that bad?" Now, not being one to gossip, but being a little bored, I mulled over all the office party's that I knew of that had gone bad. I took a look around-no one there but that couple at the end of the bar chatting quietly-so in the interest of killing time I relayed the story as I knew it. This company was selling bonds or stocks or something like that. I knew many of their employees because the bar that I worked at (at the time) was across the street from their building. The gruff voiced partner (one of two principals, the other I hadn't met) would hold court early afternoons in the bar drinking double martinis. Apparently he had enough criminal offenses to warrant an electronic monitoring ankle bracelet. As a result he had deliberately moved his office to within 100 yards of a bar to get around "Big Brother". At that bar he would instruct his underlings in the art of the "cold call". As unlikely as it seemed he managed to "earn" a decent living by moving junk bonds with a veritable army of eager fresh faced recent business school graduates. There was high turnover, to be sure, but there seemed to be an endless supply of people willing to overlook a criminal past in order to enter the financial world. Christmas time had rolled around. Gruff brought in the new "receptionist" for their annual party. She had one of those names that ended in an "i" and a shirt filled out by a repetition of two letters 4 spaces earlier in the alphabet. Apparently she was part time, the other half of her employment was "dancing" at a club in the city. And I don't mean ballet or modern interpretive. Rounds of drinks were ordered and plenty of attention was given to Ms. "i". Soon enough it was decided by Mr. Gruff that a company trip to Ms. "i's" other place of employment was in order. Several cars were ordered and the whole group set off to make merry. It would be the last time that I saw Mr. Gruff. I was now deep into the story and it was then that I noticed that besides my regular customer, the couple at the end of the bar was now listening. The more the merrier I thought. I continued, "A few days later, several of the underlings arrived at the bar." "Where have you guys been?" I asked. They looked at each other uncomfortably. "Our office was closed down," said the oldest of the bunch. "What happened?" I asked. "Do you remember that party we had here?" he said. "Well it ended up at the company condo and…" he went on to describe an evening of debauchery that ended with their boss being taken away by the authorities for attempting to take some liberties with the new receptionist. "The next day we came in and our office had been closed by the other partner," he said. By now my story had so engrossed the other couple that they decided to ask a question. "What was the name of the company?" asked the man. Pleased with his interest I tried to remember. "Something-something," I said not quite remembering. "Smith-Jones*?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. "How did you know that?" I asked. "It's my company." That effectively ended my story. When the couple departed they left behind their business cards. One was the principal partner of Smith-Jones*, and the other was his attorney. I learned three that day. 1) Sometimes not having a Holiday party is the best thing for company morale. 2) The North Bay really is a lot like a small town, and even smaller than one might imagine. 3) No matter how bored you are, gossiping is never a good idea. *Not the company's real name.