Work drinks
My love of work drinks began long before I joined the workforce. When I was 14 I made a friend throw a work party at her flat. Everyone who came wore suits or blouses and had a pretend name like ‘Sue from Finance’. We all had to stand around and make small talk. I thought it was hilarious.
I love work drinks. It’s the only time you get drunk with people you’d never usually spend time with. The office hierarchy goes out the window; the British Round System doesn’t distinguish between directors and interns.
At work drinks friendships are formed. Colleagues you didn’t find attractive develop unexpected and irresistible qualities. Secrets are yielded, common interests discovered, flirtations founded, snogs snug. Office goss – the best type of goss – begins at work drinks.
The best thing about work drinks is how gloriously unplanned they always are. We didn’t mean to get absolutely shit-faced, to find ourselves swaying on the Victoria Line at midnight, Big Tasty in one hand, the other illustrating a point made to a stranger you started chatting to on the platform.
No one meant to go home with Sam from Creative or Sue from Finance at work drinks. We just planned to go for one – and a quick one at that.
Last December I was unemployed for the first time in my adult life. My friend Amy was managing Delivery Hero’s Christmas party. She asked if I wanted to help out. She said she’d give me the best job possible for decent pay.
Amy was unaware of my love of work drinks when she put me in charge of the silent disco at Delivery Hero’s Christmas party.
The party was Space themed. Amy had done an amazing job. The entire place was decked out with shimmering blue and grey streamers, balloons and planet-themed decor.
The Silent Disco was upstairs, slightly tucked away from the rest of the party. My job was to hand out headphones to Delivery Hero employees and make sure the ‘70s and ‘80s classic rock playlists were kept on continuous loop.
It took a little while for the employees to find me at my post, but as they started trickling in we became mates. Many of them seemed awkward in the work party environment and were happy to chat to an enthusiastic stranger. As they came and went I asked them if they would mind picking me up a glass of white wine from the open bar.
As the employees got increasingly tipsy they encouraged me to come out from behind my silent disco bar and dance along with them. I’d had one or two of the requested glasses of wine so felt comfortable doing so. Having said that the wine wasn’t coming quite often enough so I asked more people, just to make sure I had myself covered.
About 1.5 hours later those people all suddenly remembered me, stuck upstairs on my silent disco post, and I found myself with about 7 or 8 glasses lined up next to the headphones. Dutifully I started to drink them. After glass 3 I took the executive decision to turn off the 70s and 80s music and put on Drake’s OVO playlist.
The crowd loved it. The silent disco, my kingdom, was popping off. The very best things about work drinks were happening around me and it felt like my creation.
At this point the streamers and space decorations so carefully hung around the room earlier were mostly hung around my person. I had firmly transitioned from tipsy to quite drunk to shit-faced.
I was shuffling to J Cole with the finance department when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the man everyone in my life now refers to as Tuna Sandwich. You know the one, the one I met in Berghain and thought was The One until he made me a tuna sandwich for dinner.
‘What are you doing?” He said.
Fuck. I forgot he worked at Delivery Hero.
I looked around. I was wearing 6 or 7 silent disco headphones as bangles. Silver streamers were braided into my hair and one of the rings from a Papier Marche Saturn hung loosely around my neck. I had a glass of wine in one hand and four more lined up behind me.
“What?” I said, blinking.
He tried again. “Do you… work here?”
I got my words back. “I’m in charge of the silent disco.” I stammered.
“Ah right.” Then he looked up – his name had been called. A girl stood on the other side of the bar looking confused. “I’ve got to go,” he said.
We hugged an awkward goodbye. “See you later,” I said, knowing full well I wouldn’t, and put my headphones back on just in time for Nicki Minaj’s verse in Monster.
Illustration by Who What Ben Why
