There’s always an awkward moment or two at the office Christmas party 🎉
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I’ve decided this Christmas that the milk of human kindness has dried up at the tit!
No — seriously, hear me out.
I’m sitting in a bar near the Yarra River (not on the river or next to it, because the office Xmas parties have taken over all the popular spots), and as I look around at all the fun, I’m actually glad there are still a few companies that treat their staff to a proper Christmas party 🎈
A party where all the staff get shit-faced… or at the very least, have a hangover the next day.
This train of thought suddenly transported me back in time to — believe it or not — bloody Kerry Packer, a rich Australian business tycoon. A job I did back in the day, which shall remain nameless, was run by Packer. The man was many things to many people (some not good), but say what you like about him: at Christmas time, he treated his staff like kings and queens.
No expense was spared.
Yes, there was always that awkward moment when someone tried to dry-hump a Chesterfield couch or the receptionist because the free alcohol had gone straight to their head… but hey, that’s what work parties are friggin’ about. Embarrassing moments! And Packer didn’t stop at the booze. He gave out the most incredible Christmas hampers I’ve ever seen. I had to take a taxi home every year because the hamper was too big to carry on the bus.
I know what you’re thinking.
It was the 90s or something!
So what! Does it matter what year it was? All I’m saying — as I sit here drinking my beer — is that organisations like the one Packer ran gave their milk freely from the tit at Christmas time. And I reckon that’s not a bad thing.
Long live the 90s. Bring back the drunken office Xmas parties 🥳
Later, on the 64 tram heading home, the city drifting past in a blur of Town Hall fairy lights and last-minute shoppers, my thoughts softened. Christmas, for me, has never really been about corporate generosity or free booze. It’s the small things — the things stitched into you from childhood. Memories of Mum making her cups of coffee and milk, the simple comfort of her presence if she were still alive. Or playing with my niece and my nephew by the pool, and watching Carols by Candlelight on TV, the whole country tuning in for one night, pretending we’re all part of the same Christmas choir.
The tram slows, jolts, and pulls into Stop 37. I stand, step off, and accidentally shoulder-bump a total stranger.
“Sorry, mate. Have a Merry Christmas!”
He grins back without missing a beat, and says…
“Same to you, mate!”
And just like that — a tiny, ordinary moment — the milk of human kindness starts flowing freely once again.
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