Office-office party

Yesterday was the office-only Christmas celebration, complete with catered lunch (plus ornament exchange) as well as a white-elephant gift exchange (plus booze) in the evening. Yes, that’s right: for the first time evar (where “evar” is defined as the many years I’ve worked there), my coworkers drank beer and/or wine at our workplace. In an officially approved manner, even.

The best line of the evening not uttered by me: Once I start drinking, I don’t care what it is!

People brought wine, but nobody thought to bring a corkscrew. Fortunately, someone had a camping kit in their car complete with a port-a-corkscrew. Unfortunately, it really didn’t give you all that much to grab onto while trying to remove a cork. The gals of the office had thus been passing these bottles over to one of the guys to open. That Guy was sitting down, and so had held the wine bottle between his legs while yanking on the corkscrew with both hands.

This one time, however, That Guy was nowhere to be found. I was unfortunate enough to be the closest male, and so I was handed the bottle to open. I tried to leave the bottle on the counter, using one hand on the corkscrew and one hand on the bottle—and was just getting nowhere. One of the gals then suggested that I stick the bottle between my legs to open it, as That Guy had done. My response?

The best line of the evening uttered by me: No thanks; I’m secure in my sexuality.

(5 seconds pass)

[uproarious laughter]

 

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