| The Christmas Party |
12/12/2005 |
by Jon
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Here's to you Dr. McGlintock
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A True Story.
I suppose I should start at the beginning. Three weeks ago I was walking past a co-workers office. Let’s call her Janet (Her real name is Janet). In Janet’s office was another co-worker, Mary, that worked in another building whom I have developed a friendship with, thanks to the New England Patriots and her love to talk about herself to anyone that has ears. We had all just received our invitations to the company Christmas party and I casually asked if we had to bring anyone, thinking that in a family company it would look good to show up with a nice lady on my arm (real or inflatable). As soon as I had asked the question, Mary started uncontrollably shaking, I froze in place fearing I had caused a seizure in another blonde woman, it seems to happen so often. But she stopped at one point and looked at me, wild excitement in her eyes, I will try to capture what she and I said, forgive me if it gets lost in translation, this was being spit at me at about 150 miles per hour.
Mary: Oh my god, I know who you, you should go with, you should go with. Oh I know who you should go with, my friend, I know who you should go with, oh I know who your going with, your going with my friend Tammy. She’s great you’ll have a great time, so go with Tammy ok.
Jon: Uhhh
Mary: Oh you’ll love it, she looks like Marilyn Monroe, you’ll love it, you’ll go with her, we’ll have so much fun, oh you’ll go with her ok, I‘ll tell her she’s going.
Janet: Oh Jon, you’ll love her, she’s so cute and so much fun. You’ll have a great time, you’re definitely going.
Jon: uhhh, wait a sec..
Mary: Don’t worry, I am calling her right now. (She proceeds to open her phone and call her friend and leave a message that I am taking her to the party)
Mary: So perfect right?
Jon: Uhhh, I don’t know….yeah whatever.
Thus, the trap was set. As I walked out of Janet’s office, I knew. That is all I will say right now…I knew.
For the next three weeks leading up to the party I avoided all contact with Mary and the subject of the approaching evening. If history had taught me anything, it’s that blind dates in professional situations don’t really suit the modern day Jon Wellington like most people believe it would. I brought up my concerns to my roommates, a few friends and my family. Each group told me that I shouldn’t worry. That everything would go fine. I understand their moral responsibility to lend me support. I just wish they had put aside their feelings and saw what I saw. Well my friends, here is what I saw.
The party began at 6 and I was meeting Mary, her husband, and my date Tammy at the Oriental Garden restaurant in Haverhill Massachusetts at 5:30. I bought some new pants and a new belt that morning and headed home. I cleaned my room and took a shower and started getting dressed. At 4:40 p.m., five minutes before I am suppose to leave, I go to put on my new belt on my brand new pants and realize a strange thing about them, perhaps the very reason they were only twelve dollars. The pants have no belt loops. Now I don’t know who invented pants, nor will I ever meet this person in my life, but what the fuck is a pair of pants without the loops to hold a necessary belt in place, apparently I had visited the suspender section of the pants catalog at the store. Plus, I figure for all the things to look for on a pair of pants, the FUCKIN LOOPHOLES are a given, it’s like checking for pockets or that there is not a huge motherfucking hole in the ass or crotch of the pants, something’s you know will just be there. Well, apparently not this time.
Ignoring the sign from God, I put the belt on anyway and resigned myself to keeping a watch on it for the rest of the night, you know, a lot of hands on the belt buckle like I am a middle aged Texas man should get the job done. I did contemplate ditching the belt, but knew that would not work, the pants were already a little tight and I had no blazer or nice jacket to put over the ensemble, the belt was a must-wear.
I started the drive and ran into a huge traffic jam 2 miles before the exit I needed to take. Apparently two fire trucks had attempted to make love on the highway and crashed. It set me back 30 minutes and I can’t even really say what happened because as I approached the accident, it cleaned up and moved on, perfect timing.
I got to the exit but made the wrong turn at the end of said exit, sending me 3 miles, and ten more minutes away from the garden of Orientals. I called Mary and got steered straight, a few minutes later I parked and got out of my car. As I walked through the door I sensed a looming doom upon me but I perked up, I’m Jon mother fucking Wellington, I am the man, I psyched myself up for a good night, I had heard that my date was a hottie repeatedly the last three weeks and while I wasn’t looking for a hook-up, who knows what might happen.
However, of all the information I had in my pocket about this woman, one very important thing I forgot to ask was her age. Because there is nothing wrong with a 24 year old Jon Wellington bringing a 22 year old to a party, maybe a little strange bringing a 32 year old to a party. But when the woman you are bringing is 42 fucking years old and everyone I guess just “forgot to mention it” then it might be looked at as weird. We made pleasantries and Tammy regaled me with a tale of how she is now on top of the world running the sears shipping department in Danvers, Massachusetts. She must have sensed my pain, because those were last words we spoke to each other for the rest of the night. The time was 6:15 p.m.
We left the restaurant and they told me that I should follow them. Unfortunately they didn’t realize that in order for me to follow them, I need to be in my car and behind them. The last I saw of them was their taillights pulling out of the parking lot as I reached my car. I had no idea how to get there and called Mary to ask for directions.
She didn’t pickup.
At this point in time my friends, I had a choice. I could grin and bear more bullshit of this night, or I could cut my losses and go home. The answer came in the form of a ring.
Mary Called:
Mary: How’s it going Beef!
Jon: What?
Mary: Beef, like beef Wellington, it’s what me and my friends have decided to call you.
Jon: Click (I said click)
Then I turned off my phone.
By 7:15 I was relaxing on my couch with a cool Molson in my hand screaming Lynyrd Skynyrd and excepting the fact that while many men may date many women in this world. There is one guy who is by far not welcome in that arena. And as of 9:00 a.m. on Monday, December 12, 2005, Jonny Wellington is pretty ok with that.
Until next time.
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