Situation 1: Office Christmas party
Lemme tell you how it goes. Autumn rolls in; you’re enjoying the longer evenings, lots of new TV content, and the general coziness that comes with this soft, rainy, subdued season. Gone is the scorching hell of summer that forced you to go out of your stuffy home, right into the hands of malicious extroverts always looking for victims to chat to in parks and on the streets. Of course, some of your friends (should the fate be so cruel to you as to give you outgoing nincompoops as friends) will still want to socialize inside, but you’re experienced, you find the way to get out of those traps if you feel you did too much talking for one week.
This bliss lasts until one fateful day in December, when you come to work and hear these three heinous words that make your heart drop. Office. Christmas. Party. It’s coming, and it’s coming to get you. You dash to the loos, turn the cold water tap on to cool yourself down, and stare at your shocked, chalk-white face in the mirror. You knew this moment was looming before you like the iceberg before the Titanic; you refused to believe you would hit it, until it sank the little comfortable boat you sail through life on, you think bitterly. The picture is so real that you can even feel the water drenching your hideous Christmas jumper you nicked off your brother three winters ago. Oh wait, it’s actually the tap that you’re prodding so aggressively that does that. You return to your workplace soaking-wet and angry. Your co-workers look at you like you’re an idiot.
But friend, don’t waste your time moping around waiting for the D-Day to strike. Use the rest of your socializing battery to suss out the particulars of the darned event. What will the venue be? You can visit it beforehand to plan your vanishing act. How many people are to show up? A good general assesses the numbers of the other party before the battle. Does the program include any team-building (urgh) exercises? Find out the whats and whens, sneak out to the bathroom and never return. People never notice, anyway, because usually, they’re already too merry (and not from the Christmas cheer) to care.
Entering the room on the day, load your platter with food (to shove it in your mouth when, heaven forbid, someone approaches too dangerously close with an apparent intention of talking), pick out the most faraway corner (not too far away from the door, though, you have to leave the escape route open), and just sit there schadenfreude-ing at others wincing at their Secret Santa offerings and belting out to ABBA on karaoke. Good for them, good for you, and the time will flow faster.
Situation 2: Present-buying hell
As you draw a line under the whole office party cataclysm, popping into your mind and agenda is the next Yuletide travesty: buying presents. It’s hard by itself, but the first horror to be dealt with is asking people what they want. Some giftees-to-be are nice and give you an exact list of things they want, item by item. But others prefer to laugh bashfully and humblebrag about how they will be happy to receive anything you give them, casually adjusting the halo around their head. Didn’t look so happy when I gave you these socks last year, you mutter sotto voce, putting on your coat after taking the three sedative pills you deem an absolute necessity for bracing the crammed shops.
But stop! What is that you’re doing? There’s no need in going to the shops. Thank the merciful goodness above, you can get everything online nowadays. Can’t find the thing your cranky nephew asked Santa for on Amazon? Screw it. He’ll have to content himself with a teddy bear instead. Maybe this one. Or just buy him an encyclopedia. This will be the passive-aggressive present the annoying malapert really deserves. And always remember: wrapping is the key to gift-giving. The more bows and ribbons and washi tape there are, the better. It wins you some time to run away from the person you’re gifting to avoid their reaction. You’ve done your bit, and the rest just isn’t your problemo.
Situation 3: Going home for Christmas
You’ve made it through the office party, you’ve bought the presents, and now it’s the hour of the last hurdle: interacting with your extended family on Christmas or New Year’s. Time to endure the continuous grilling of your life choices by your great auntie X, to listen about uncle N’s successful kids whose busy jobs sadly kept them off from dragging their smarty pants to the family shindig, and cringe trying to get on with the aforementioned nephew who disses old Star Wars as boring and has never ever read Harry Potter. Nothing is sacred for the youth of today.
As the day approaches, you feel more despondent than ever. You even forget to feed your cat its favorite catnip snack, and the poor fella is only left with three other choices to munch on while you look into the sad nothingness outside the window, your face crinkled in worry. You go to bed at 2am only to wake up after four hours of restless sleep with eye bags so huge they can be used to store the wealth of a middle-range Swiss banker.
But as you gloomily drive to the meeting place in a crowded bus with someone no doubt very nice hitting you on the head with their Christmas tree each time the vehicle makes a snappy brake, do mull over these suggestions. For starters: you can rise above the patronizing-conversation situations by mumbling monosyllabic answers and forcing out the rare polite hmms when the other side expects appreciation. You don’t even need to listen to what it is that they’re venting about, just think about something else instead (like how good it will feel not seeing all these people for another year).
Then there is the saving grace in the form of excuses. ‘I had a spouse and three kids when I was your age, don’t you think the clock is ticking?’ Excuse me, I have to make a quick trip down the wc’s. ‘That Master’s degree in international relations of yours, really came in handy, didn’t it?’ Oh shoot, I think my phone’s ringing. ‘What was it you said you’re doing in life?’ Sorry, can you smell something burning in the kitchen, I better go and check? There’s a good chance that when you come back, they’ll have chosen another hapless person to prey on.
Finally, after all of this misery and suffering, you can go home, plonk down on the sofa, and breathe out. And make sure you give yourself a good ol’ pat on the back, because, congratulations: you’ve survived and can now spend the rest of the festive season in the right way (i.e. dressed in PJs and gorging on food and TV).
Happy holidays!
