November 19, 2003
The Company of Strangers
'Twas a time when the annual holiday party was simultaneously the most eagerly anticipated and woefully dreaded event of the year among those working in corporate America. Although the economic downturn of recent years has yielded a steep decline in the number of companies that choose to continue the holiday party tradition, there are still a few behemoths out there that don't mind laying off a few hundred people between Thanksgiving and Christmas in order to keep the surviving employees happy--and nicely toasted--if only for a night.
Yet the number of companies that opt out of throwing a mid-December shindig, combined with the aforementioned "redundancies," leaves a rather large demographic with absolutely no chance of being "that guy/girl" at the company party. Which leaves them with no alternative but to crash a corporate holiday party or two. It's not as difficult as you might think.
In every aspect of life, knowledge is power. The corporate crash caper is no exception. Before you even think about taking on a guerrilla effort of this magnitude, you must first arm yourself with critical intelligence.
First you have to find a potential target for your yuletide joyride. Having friends who spend their days toiling for the man is a huge advantage in this case. They'll tell you where the parties are.
Lacking access to such inside information will throw a sizable monkey wrench into your party planning. Without these ill-gotten specifics, you'll be relegated to choosing a Friday or Saturday evening in mid-December, dressing to the nines and wandering from one swanky hotel to the next, on the lookout for signs of corporate excess.
The dressing up part applies whether or not you have a definite destination. If you want to play the part, you have to look the part. We're not talking tux or ball gown here, but nothing less than a suit will suffice for the gents, and the ladies should go with the "attending a friend's wedding" garb.
It's absolutely vital to bring a date on this mission. The reason is twofold. After all, you'll need not only a partner in crime but also a partner in conversation.
You're not there to observe and absorb the finer nuances of corporate culture. You're just there to suck from its teat on the free tip for a night.
Additionally, if you encounter difficulties with an overzealous hotel employee wielding the "list," a guest at your side can be an invaluable asset, as said staffer will be less likely to deny entrance to a couple, as opposed to a random lone partygoer.
Having arrived at your party of choice in appropriate dress, it's important to recognize the crucial nature of the first moments of your escapade. Upon entering the hotel lobby, be vigilant for any signs of making an easy yet stealthy entrance to the gig.
The first thing to look for is simply a sign informing attendees of the floor number for the gathering. If you've already been supplied with this little nugget of knowledge, make a break for the elevators. Lacking advance notice and any obvious signage, you may be forced to inquire at the front desk or, worse yet, a table set up specifically to deal with party inquiries.
The latter scenario presents myriad potential problems. First of all, there's the real--yet somewhat remote--possibility that the table is staffed by actual employees of the hosting company. Seeing as very few employees would agree to work during any portion of their company's holiday party, this specific scenario is pretty unlikely.
Barring that potential obstacle, the table (or front desk) is likely manned by regular hotel staffers who aren't hip to your game--unless they possess the dreaded list of attendees. These most formidable of foes could very well be the first legitimate obstacle you'll encounter in your adventure.
The best way to handle the situation is to simply ignore the list's existence. Calmly approach the table and inform whoever is behind it that you're an employee of (insert company name here) and need a floor number. Keep it direct and to the point.
Have a credible pseudonym prepared in advance to provide in the event that the list becomes an undeniable reality. It's also a good idea to practice your reaction to being told that your name isn't on the list.
In this case, you should mix a bit of humor with a touch of curious indignation. Don't be an asshole and act completely outraged--it won't help your case. Make some sort of comment that would be regarded by corporate types as witty. Something like, "Maybe I missed that pink slip in my inbox yesterday" should work.
Chances are good that the hotel employees are under fairly strict orders to avoid confrontation at all costs. I guarantee that not one of them will risk their ass in order to save a faceless corporate monolith a few bucks.
Now you're on the inside. The most difficult part of your mission is behind you, but don't delude yourself about the hawks that may lurk among the partygoers. If you find yourself in the unfortunate position of being forced into conversation with a suspicious corporate drone, be sure to mention that you work in "records management." This adorable corporate term is nothing more than a fancy way of saying, "I file things."
Fellow employees rarely take notice of the peons in the filing ... er, records management department, nor do they give a rat's ass about them.
It's likely that the conversation will trail off to an uncomfortable but welcome ending once this little gem is revealed, and you'll be left alone once more. But if you happen to be engaged by someone who is either too drunk, desperate or suspicious to allow such a disclosure to bring the chat to a halt, start darting your head around, ducking as if to avoid an unwanted stare. When questioned about your strange behavior, mutter something about not wanting to have to deal with that "sad sack of a boss" and hightail it the hell out of there.
At this point, you should be on your way to taking a little piece back from the purveyors of corporate greed. Don't blow this opportunity. Be sure to eat and drink your share while you can, remaining constantly vigilant for any potential trouble spots. Don't forget to challenge your date to a game of "spot the fellow crashers." It's not nearly as uncommon as you may believe.
Keep in mind that corporations employ a relatively high number of teetotalers, as well as those attendees who choose not to drink at the party for fear of becoming "that guy/girl." Considering this, it wouldn't hurt for you to drink a little more than your share in an effort to pick up that slack.
On that note, don't forget to provide yourself with your hard-earned parting gifts at the end of the night. Any cans or bottles that you can manage to stash somewhere on your person are fair game come last call. Overcoats are highly recommended, and don't neglect the inside breast pockets--they can net you two extra beers.
Besides, you don't have to face these people ever again. Go on and be "that guy/girl." It may get you tossed, because eventually you're sure to pull an antic that draws attention to yourself. But with any luck by that point you'll have already consumed enough food and drink not to care one way or the other.
So go ahead and eat, drink and be merry. Corporate whores have been screwing us for years. Isn't it about time we got our due?
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