The Christmas Party

A Guest post by Miss Commander

It's the Christmas season, and I bet you're all planning 'dressy but not to informal' outfits for those extravagant chrissie parties that your fabulous workplaces are throwing for you and their other valued employees. Am I jealous? Of what, creepy Phil from accounts trying to grope you by the photocopier? Or of the hangover you'll have the next day from mixing your drinks and eating those nasty reheated sausage rolls (that you end up vomiting in an office cubicle that has a handy chart on the back door that tells you how dehydrated you are judging by the colour of your wee, which by the way, today is a 'dangerously dehydrated' rancid pineapple juice yellow)? No. Of course I'm not jealous.

Ok. You got me. I am a little jealous of you gainfully employed types who get a fuss made of them at Christmas time, just because you get a regular paycheck.

As a self employed artsy fartsy type, no one is there come December to thank me for all my hard work, for shlepping all across Melbourne, teaching your kids about the dangers of cyber bullying and unprotected sex (unless you have girls that go to Catholic school, in which case they've just be warned that they're going to get a period, and don't worry, its normal for girls to be mean to each other).

Does anyone care how many brands I've promoted in too tight t-shirts? And I've certainly never heard of a life models Christmas party, and that's one that might actually be interesting to attend, given our enthusiasm for being naked in rooms full of strangers. Adding alcohol to that mix could only be a good thing.

You're probably wondering where all this bitterness comes from. Surely I knew when I trotted happily off to acting school that no one would ever address a kris kringle to me or agonise over the lack of gluten free mince pies available for festive morning teas, should I insist on pursuing a career in the arts unsupported by regular employment?

No, this bitterness comes from the fact that in 10 years of working life, not once have I ever been invited to a work Christmas party (even when I did hold down relatively 'normal' jobs). And with my current career trajectory, this seems unlikely to change.

So here I am, left lamenting the lack of loose nights out with colleagues, and the absence of tacky gifts of the “under $10” variety. I'll never know the joy of decorating a cubicle with tinsel or of exchanging religion non specific cards with co-workers of questionable faith.

Seeing as I'm a small business, surely any alcohol bought for the express purpose of thanking me for my years hard work could be claimed back on the tax that I never pay because I don't earn enough money to pay any? Surely?

Right then. That's settled. I'm off to the bottle shop. Must remember to get a receipt, and try not to loose it in my haste to down entire bottles of port in one go. That's what I call a Merry Christmas.

Cat posts here in between missing a proper workplace and making her own festive fun

1 comment:

Chris Boyd said...

Bloody brilliant rant. So frickin' true. Even for free-lunchers like m'self. grrrr