GUEST COMMENT: Smart bankers will not be attending the office Christmas party
Christmas comes but once a year and let's thank the Lord for that. I don't think I went a year during my City career without getting pretty damned close to losing my job at the office Christmas party and my last year in the Square Mile was no exception.
About 500 bank employees of all ranks attended 2007's festive knees-up, which took place in an extremely plush City venue and involved wonderful food, playground rides and enough champagne to keep Puff Daddy fuelled for a year. As always, I behaved like some wet-behind-the-ears graduate trainee and as always, it was the grog what done it. By about 10pm I was drunk as a skunk and then the fun really began...
Four epic failings
First of all, I allowed a simmering rivalry with a colleague get out of hand. Gentle 'matey' mockery escalated quicker than a Middle East border dispute and soon I detected worried glances from those standing around us. Fisticuffs are not unknown at these events but this time discretion proved the better part of valour and I allowed this hulking rugby player to walk away.
Secondly, through a series of schoolboy double entendres I made it fairly clear to two married colleagues who were having an affair that I knew about their romance. The withering look I received from the lady involved suggested I was unlikely to be on her Christmas card list from then on.
Thirdly, I became overly aggressive in an embarrassingly public way with my boss. For some strange reason he didn't use a few misjudged comments about his haircut to diminish my bonus. Those buggers who organised these parties always seemed to make sure they took place in the week of bonus day - probably to catch out loose cannons like myself.
Finally, I got on the dance floor, began throwing shapes like an ecstasy-addled teenager and started flirting outrageously with various 'ladeez'. These events are one of the key ways a City secretary can bag herself a millionaire. But I don't think even if I'd had Abromovich's billions and Clooney's looks that there were any gold-diggers there that night sufficiently desperate to give me a second glance such was my obvious state of inebriation. I finally stumbled out at about midnight and woke up on my sofa looking and smelling like Ollie Reed (and I say that fully aware he'd been dead for 8 years).
In the City, Christmas is truly the season to be jolly hung-over and office parties there are a hideous minefield where the stakes can be very high. A successful flirtation could bag you a millionaire whilst 'inappropriate' behaviour could cost you your outrageously well-paid job.
Just say no
Smarter, more experienced brokers often don't attend their office Christmas parties at all knowing that the potential downside is too serious. I managed to never get in really big trouble but it got so close there sometimes that it's a miracle I left my job rather than being fired.
It may sound incredibly boring but if you have any propensity to get out-of-control and you value your job I'd recommend a few beers and home by eleven ... otherwise the only present Santa might be delivering is a gift-wrapped P45!
Geraint Anderson is the author of Cityboy - Beer and Loathing in the Square Mile.' You can visit his website here and you can buy his book here.
