Once upon a Christmas party, when I was a young lawyer, I threw up on my boss: the managing partner. We were side by side at a bar when some recently downed Christmas-cheer reappeared. It splashed onto him via a half volley off the bar. ‘Twas a happy holiday ricochet.
And so every year, at this time of year, I reflect on that Christmas party – my first as a lawyer – and also the one that followed … when clients were invited. By then I’d learned to keep my alcohol down, but, instead, out of my mouth came a crack about a client’s moustache.
“You’ve pruned it to look like mistletoe.”
Ho ho ho! ‘Twas my last laugh at that firm.
I thought I’d actually been rather restrained in my time there. Not once had I taken a nap or had sex with anyone else or myself in the office. Not that the opportunities hadn’t presented themselves, but, unlike some lawyers I’ve known, I’ve always maintained a policy against doing anything non-billable in the office that I might want to do again and again, and again.
Yes, I’ve learned a few things in my time as a lawyer and thought it might be opportune to take a Lexcursion down memory lane and reflect on silly seasons gone by – as a warning to young lawyers who still have a career, as yet unsullied by unfortunate Yuletide events.
Some need to be cautioned. Only last year, at a certain Christmas show, I overheard a conversation between two young lawyers that went something like this:
“Hey, I thought you’d gone home,” said the first young lawyer. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry,” said the other lawyer. “I’ve been on the toilet, calling my girlfriend, and doing a line.”
“What? All at the same time?”
I’ll never get that image out of my head.
Another notable multi-tasker is the young lawyer I once saw reproducing his dinner on a Christmas party dance floor – and yet he just kept right on dancing, shaking his groove thing, and his head, and his troubles away.
Of course, the classic mistake in Christmas exuberance is sleeping with one’s boss. Though I do know one lawyer who managed to take the mere suggestion of the thing, and make it even worse. Our hero was a tall, dark, handsome, and straight, male young lawyer. And he happened to have a somewhat effeminate, but also straight, male boss.
The Christmas party was had and everyone kicked on for more drinks (note: almost always a mistake). The boss was buying a round of drinks for his staff when the young lawyer decided it was time, in front of everyone, to set matters straight.
“I’m onto your plan,” he challenged his boss.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he said. “Now I’m way too drunk to defend myself and you’re buying me another beer. Why don’t you make a move? C’mon, here’s your big chance. It might be your lucky night … or not.”
And, so, come Monday, our hero (note: it was most definitely not me) had to front the office, and his colleagues, and his boss, and, in due course, a counsellor – to discuss his particular approach to sexual harassment.
Kris Kringle is just as bad. I’ve known of a workplace where one worker gave a dummy to another which resulted in one almighty dummy-spit. And I’ve heard tales of arrays of penis-shaped gifts giving rise to all manner of occupational health and safety hazards.
The best advice for this Christmas: stay home with the people you love – or, if they’re not available, your family. They’re used to your foolishness, your dodgy gifts and your drunken ways. And if you ever really mess things up, you know you’ll have somewhere else you can go. They’ll always welcome you back at the office. Even on Christmas Day.