* * *
The office Christmas party was always death. With nothing in common but the job itself, thirty-five people would stand or sit around the office in awkward silence, punctuated by feeble attempts at conversation.
‘Did you ever figure out what was wrong with the printer?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh. Good.’
Or
‘So, any plans for Christmas?’
‘Not really. You know … family, friends.’
‘Uh huh. Me too.’
And then back to staring at the floor, wondering how much longer the purgatory would last. The boss would make the usual speech, with a few tired witticisms thrown in that everyone laughed at politely. Party hats and Secret Santa gifts would make their inevitable appearance, with the only benefit being the brief distraction they gave from the stilted conversation and contrived gaiety the rest of th
