A Compilation of Christmas Fail
I may, possibly, not be “good” at Christmas. Here are a few of my failiest fails in all their shabby glory:
Shake-Zula, Christmas Rula’
This holiday ensemble, featuring some species of indoor fern, was put together for about 25 bucks. The tree’s special “floppy triangle” shape earned it a nickname: Master Shake, of Aqua Teen Hunger Force fame.
Work and Holidays Don’t Mix
Some nights in the restaurant business are so crushing, so full of mean-spirited bad tippers and helpless situations that I find myself shell shocked by the end of the day. All I want to do is sit on the couch with a glass of wine and zone out, trying to forget the horrors of the evening.
While these occasions are few and far between at my restaurant, two nights out of the year inevitably threaten to send me straight to the loony bin: New Year’s and Christmas Eve. The “ARRG” level of these shifts is immense.
Luckily for me, I was part of a Argentine family for several years who insisted on gathering on Christmas eve, not day. The fact that I had to work one of the worst shifts of the year that night was nothing but a minor inconvenience to them. As long as I was able to make it before midnight present-opening time, the show would go on.
On one such Christmas eve, I made the 45-minute drive home, numb and exhausted. I walked through the door of my tiny, crappy apartment, stinking in the dried sweat of my restaurant clothes, and saw a small group of acquaintances and family crammed in the dining nook. My ex mother-in-law was rummaging around in my kitchen, and by the uncomfortable looks on everyone’ s faces, the old woman hen pecking had commenced. I weakly said “hi” to everyone and went straight to my room, where I shut the door and started crying. I emerged about 15 minutes later, much more relaxed, if somewhat sheepish.
If you make ginger bread houses, be sure to use real egg whites, and a correct liquid-to-sugar ratio. Or live with the consequences (my melty-faced ginger-blerg still comes up as my ID pic on my friend’s cell phone.)
Work Party Karaoke Bomb
I saw the train wreck coming too late. How had I ever thought this was fun? I was stuck, trying not to look at the crowd’s watching eyes, hearing my own voice lamely float in and out of a song. My partner in crime was fortunately way more drunk than I was and owned, albeit semi-tunelessly, his half of the duet.
It was the second worst karaoke disaster in my history (First will always be when my old roommate made me do Barry Manilow’s Copacabana at a biker dive bar, where we cleared the dance floor in less than 30 seconds.) I’d been tricked, perhaps, by some minor success at past work parties‒ The kitchen staff would drag me to the front, and, with the music blaring, we were able to sing-songily not completely destroy a few songs. The speakers were missing this year, leaving us at the mercy of a karaoke machine whose volume went as high as an iPhone’s. No direction, no guide, just a faint memory of a song in my head to try and sing to. I apologize for any pain and destruction to coworkers’ eardrums this incident may have caused.
Merry Christmas everyone, and may all your holiday fails be memorable and bright!
A special thanks to Misty’s Laws for her awesome Christmas prize package. A very Merrytini indeed!