A toast to the ghosts of Christmas parties past

(istockphoto)

Pull out those silly Santa ties and the tacky tinsel earrings. It's time for everyone's favorite compulsory event, the office christmas party. A time to bond with those you hold least dear, the people at work. There's no escaping it. As inevitable as FM Christmas music on Halloween, it happens every year.

Many company parties have a theme, like "The Grinch that Stole Christmas." But in a year without bonuses, that one cuts a little too close to the truth. Or, "A Charles Dickens Christmas," but the Cratchit kid without health insurance thing is "iffy" at best. If we were really authentic, Kevin Costner's "No Way Out," would be the universal theme for these annual schmooze fests.

It used to be easier to escape the office Christmas party. Many people, many of them lying, claimed they did not celebrate Christmas and must abstain for "religious reasons." But, after the shocking revelation that not everyone is Christian, it became the "Holiday Party." So, now what? Being "called out of town" is suspect. A "personal day" is about as credible as a campaign ad. And there are only so many times you can bury your grandmother. (In our office, the personal record was seven.)

Today's only alternative is a vague contagious disease that begs no further explanation.

Most parties feature a gift exchange. Some play "Secret Santa" where someone you barely know tries to find you the perfect gift. This is how diabetics end up with chocolates, and alcoholics receive Tequila, while Generation X-ers are treated to "Perry Como's Greatest Hits." Other offices do blind grabs. These typically have a "suggested retail value" that half the people ignore, wrapping swag from the supply closet instead. Others spend too much and then grouse when others spend the recommended amount.

Then, there's my personal favorite, the "Yankee Swap." I've never understood how this reflects the spirit of giving or good will, but, I guess it does resemble the Red Sox negotiations for A-Rod. At work, a Yankee Swap is where you regift something you don't want, to people you don't like, and then you take it back. But only if the recipient likes it. Otherwise, they are stuck with it for eternity. People spend hours trading for the coveted liquor bottles and gift certificates while leaving the Patriots pot holders and the "Dennis Kucinich UFO Kits" to the losers.

At parties where employees bring guests, many people play "Who Would Be Desperate Enough to Marry [insert name here]?" It's the chance to meet the unfortunate spouses of some of the office tyrants. It's always a puzzle how people hook up. The next day you'll hear "but she was so nice," or "he actually seemed intelligent," or, "she speaks remarkably good English, considering."

Preparation for the party depends upon the age of the guest. The day of, the younger women will spend hours in the ladies' room primping for the big event. Many see it, like Justin Timberlake, as a chance to "bring sexy back." There's hair braiding, ironing, teasing, and lacquering. There are dry cleaner bags everywhere with cocktail dresses, low cut glitter tops, and metallic heels higher than the Leonard Zakim Bridge. There's enough designer perfume in the air for the Federal Emergency Management Agency to send out a hazmat crew and the liberal application of make-up is equally toxic. Most faces emerge from the rest room resembling a paint-by-number "Sad Clown."

At the opposite end of the spectrum are the older women. By this I mean, over 30. Here the challenge is how to look festive without looking silly. This means applying lipstick and draping a colorful scarf or shawl over a pant suit so that everyone looks exactly like Madeleine Albright.

The first rule of company parties is that management must leave so everyone else can have fun. Young Ebenezer may have enjoyed cutting the rug with the Fezziwigs but most people prefer their bosses go home - early. Every year there's someone who missed the memo and lingers beyond curfew thus ruining the party for all concerned.

Everyone else who wants to leave early must be strategic.

A Palm Pilot checklist of people who must see you can be helpful. It generally takes at least three laps around the room before one gets credit for attendance.

If there are multiple buffet stations, many experts advise sampling from each of them, devouring or discarding, and repeating until all stations have been covered. If short for time, dropping a glass or plate can be effective.

After complimenting the party planner, one stands very close to the exit making small talk with the nearest person while slowly edging toward the exit and making a run for it.

When the music starts, Bob from the mailroom, having rented "Saturday Night Fever" one too many times, struts to the dance floor inviting all the company hotties to join him. (Any woman with an ounce of class accepts while the insecure snicker in the corner).

And like Elaine's horrific dance at the "Seinfeld" office party, there's always someone who dances, but shouldn't. There are some moves best left in the privacy of one's home, especially with the advent of camera phones and YouTube.

A few hours into the party there's usually a woman sobbing in the corner as her girlfriends try to console her. Drink in hand she oozes mascara like an oil spill fit to kill fish, fowl, and wildlife.

Usually because she's chosen this vodka-fueled opportunity to profess undying love to someone inappropriate.

Instead of crawling into the cab as her friends suggest, she will belt out tunes like "I Will Survive" or "It's My Party" at the Karaoke station, thus securing the award for Party Victim of the Year.

Another year has come and gone. And with it, another round of office parties. Here in my home office I lift my glass to ghosts of Christmas past, happy to be spared this tedious tradition.