The Holiday Party
Flash Fiction
Martin cringed when he saw the email. It was that time of year again: the office holiday party. He had sworn he would never go to another one. Not after last year, when — thanks to free and unlimited booze — he behaved like a maniac on the dance floor, told his new boss she was a “real looker,” and vomited on the street in front of the head of HR. He was done cavorting with co-workers.
When Martin returned from lunch, Alex was sitting in his cubicle with a smile on his face. “Hola, compadre,” Alex said, swiveling in Martin’s chair.
“Get out of my chair. Don’t you have work to do?”
“You see the invite for the holiday thing? Free booze and all the trimmings.”
“I’m not going this year. I’ve got stuff to do that night.”
“What stuff?”
“Other stuff,” Martin said.
“You loser. You’re going to the holiday party. You have to.”
“Says who?”
“Dude, it’s office politics shit. You have to make an appearance. Might as well have a few drinks and hit the dance floor.”
“I quit drinking.”
“Yeah, right. Since Wednesday when we went out for beers?”
