text: The 2019 Christmas staff party, thus far, had been an absolute disaster. Despite paying £50 a head all 26 of us were crammed into the small function room at the back of a grubby pub that had an overall rating of 2 stars. It didn’t look festive in the slightest, apart from a small, barely decorated Christmas tree in the corner and a few crackers that, when pulled had nothing in them, sat on the table. A buffet of sausage rolls, triangle-shaped sandwiches and a selection of crisps in bowls had been laid out like we were children. Fairytale Of New York was playing from the jukebox for the 11th consecutive time thanks to Steve from IT. Married Mark was chatting up newly single Sarah, Tom was staring glumly into his plastic cup containing who knows what cheap liquor. Tracy and Kim returned from their adventure to find an off licence that sold cigarettes as they’d already smoked their 20 decks within the first couple of hours of being here. They had barely sat down at the table with me when they decided to go for another. At times like these, I wish I was a smoker. Against my better judgement of keeping my lungs healthy, I went outside to join them. Tired of sitting myself waiting for the party to liven up. “It wasn’t like this last year,” said Kim, sparking up a cig. She turned to me. “You remember, Amy?” I did remember. Last year we were treated to a lovely 3-course meal and told the drinks were already paid for, so go wild and drink as much as you like. Had we drank too much last year and were being punished for it this year? “That restaurant was lovely,” I said, picturing the beautiful, melt in the mouth salmon I had ordered. “This is an absolute joke,” said Tracy, taking a long draw and blowing smoke into the air. It was freezing outside and I’d left my jacket inside. “50 quid to watch Steve sing the Pogues AND we have to buy our own drinks! Not even a small glass of bubbles to thank us for all our hard work this year?!” She took another long draw, practically smoking the whole thing. She stubbed it out with her heel and left it there. A pile had accumulated by the backdoor. Entirely down to them, I presumed. “It’s a disgrace,” Tracy continued, holding the door open for us. Music drifted out. The Pogues, Fairytale Of New York, again. She rolled her eyes. “Oh for the love of God.” We returned inside and down the contents left in our glasses. Kim went to the bar to order a round of drinks for us, shots and all. Dave, one of the sales advisors, came and sat down at our table. He had a bottle of beer and a paper plate filled with sausage rolls. “Want one?” he asked. “No thanks,” replied Tracy. I reached across for one, starting to feel the hunger. I hadn’t eaten much today, I don’t like to eat when I know I’m going out for a meal. Better to go starving than feeling too full to eat a thing. That had been my first mistake. There was no Christmas dinner this year. The sausage roll was dry and lacking in flavour. The flaky pastry clung to the roof of my mouth. The desire to spit it out into a napkin was tempting. Thankfully Kim returned with a tray of drinks and shots. I picked up what I presumed was my vodka and lemonade, desperate to rinse out my mouth. I felt better after drinking, vowing to eat no more sausage rolls. The sandwiches didn’t look very appealing either. Mark had eaten one and said the bread was a bit stale, they looked as though they had been sat out all afternoon. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll never be able to listen to this song again,” said Dave. “Tell me about it,” replied Kim, “and this was my favourite one!” We all looked over at Steve, sitting directly below the jukebox, as though he was guarding it from anyone wanting to put anything else other than the Pogues on. “We paid £50 for this,” said Kim. Tracy looked at Kim. Kim looked at Tracy. “Smoke?” she asked. “Smoke.” They left, again. Leaving me with Dave and his sausage rolls, and Steve with his Fairytale. Mark and Sarah came over to sit with us, both of them frowning. “This is a bit shit isn’t it?” he said. “Remember last year?” said Sarah. I nodded. “Oh my God!” Mark said suddenly, “Oh my God! He’s moving! He’s moving!” We all followed his gaze. Steve was standing up, for the first time it felt, most likely to get another drink or use the bathroom. “Now, Mark!” said Sarah with a giggle. Mark was over at the jukebox with a pound coin in a flash. I had never seen someone fire songs on so fast. Once he ran out of credits he added more coins, clearly uncaring of the money he was spending. I was just relieved it would finally be over. “ All I Want For Christmas! ” cried Sarah. “Something non-Christmassy!” said Dave with a mouthful of pastry. Tracy and Kim returned as Mariah Carey started. They smiled and cheered, dancing across the dance floor. Steve came out of the gents, seeming entirely unfazed by the change in music. Like he hadn’t even noticed we’d been listening to the same song for over half an hour. Despite our happiness from new music, it couldn’t lift our spirits enough for us to forget how rubbish tonight was. “I say we find somewhere better to go,” said Tracy, “I can’t stand this for much longer.” “I would, but this is what we paid for, and the drink is relatively cheap,” replied Kim. “That’s because it’s cheap drink and most definitely watered down. Come on, it’s Christmas. Let’s go somewhere classier, have a few cocktails and dance the night away.” I had to admit I liked that option more than staying here. We began discussing where to go and Tracy went outside to book a taxi when Tom finally tore his gaze away from his plastic cup and stood up to address the room. He was the manager, and he always made a speech at staff parties. He liked the sound of his own voice. “May I have your attention, please,” he announced, “Is everyone here?” Tracy wasn’t, but I figured whatever it was he had to say I could relive to her. His Christmas speeches were never that important. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed a change this year from where we usually have our nights out.” There were a collective muttering and agreement from the staff. “Well, the reason for that is... is, uh-” Tom was looking down again, staring deeply into his cup. “As some of you may know, or perhaps guessed, the company hasn’t been doing so well recently.” I had figured out as much. It didn’t take a genius to notice sales had been dropping. “With that being said, I regret to inform you all that this... is the end.” Kim and I exchanged glances. There were mutterings around the room. “The end?” questioned Dave, still munching on sausage rolls. Tom couldn’t look at him. Judging by his troubled expression all night, I wondered how long he knew. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this... but it’s over. We’re shutting down, effective immediately.” The crowd erupted, drunk people were yelling, someone was swearing loudly at Tom, it sounded like Mark’s voice. I said nothing, too stunned to speak. Dave had discarded his plate and was yelling too, flakes of pastry spitting out his mouth. Tom attempted to calm the room, trying to explain. Nobody wanted to hear it. Cries of how unfair it was echoed around the room. “He should have told us on Monday when everyone was sober,” said Kim. “I don’t think we’ll have a job to go to on Monday,” I replied. The reality seemed to hit her. “Oh. Shit. Well, I want my money back for tonight then. I’m not paying for this crap night out.” I watched her barge her way to the front of the crowd, shouting, “Oi! Tom!” I suddenly became aware of a draught of cold air. Someone had opened the backdoor. That same someone came to stand beside me. “Taxi is booked. What did I miss?” Tracy smelled strongly of cigarettes. She was observing the carnage kicking off with a gleeful expression. She wouldn’t be smiling in a minute. “You may want to go out for another cigarette,” I replied. “Why?” she asked. “Trust me, you’re gonna need it.” She gave me a puzzled look as I lead her outside to break the news. In the background of the chaos, not that anyone else seemed to notice, Fairytale of New York started playing again.