When I say “missing,” it’s not in the sense of, “Damn, wish I were at the office holiday party right now.” Maybe I’m curious about what the party will be like, since just before another company acquired and gutted my company, we were told that the annual company picnic had been canceled in favor of an ESPECIALLY KICKASS holiday party. This was a far easier line to swallow than “We’re not buying you sandwiches because in fact you’re walking around with a pink slip stapled to your head and just don’t know it yet.”
Anyway, there can’t be that many employees left to celebrate the winter festivals. Will they return to the age-old tradition of enjoying buffet food and severely limited amounts of beer and wine midday before shuffling back to cubicles with a buzz on? Is it possible that so-and-so’s allergy to shellfish will dominate the conversation over by the too-chewy appetizers? Who, in my absence, will be the first to sneak out and take a three-hour lunch by their lonesome?
Or, you know, is the office actually there anymore? After three months away, you start to doubt it was ever real. That the people you worked with continue to roam this earth, even though you no longer collide with them when exiting that cramped little bathroom. And without the American workplace to feebly acknowledge the holidays, do they no longer exist? I suppose what I’m trying to say is that December brings up some heavy metaphysical issues, and also don’t expect a gift from me this year.
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