It was much the same as every other office Christmas do.
The cliques stood in circles, one pushing a head in to tell a story, some of the others leaning in to hear, then all the heads popping out again in polite laughter.
One looks at his glass, it’s empty. He shakes it at the group, nodding to the bar. The others bob in agreement and they move, as one, to swarm the bar. Then, all refilled, do a tour of the room before coming back to where they started.
Another group takes to the dance floor, all in a circle, flapping their arms and taking confused little steps.
Prowling around the outside were the loners, descending on the stragglers, those without the safety of a group.
The night progresses, and one clique of party-goers seems discontent. Their paths around the hall are smaller, tighter. Their meetings with other groups seems to build discontent, heads nod in agreement in a much sharper way, “Oohs” are heard, feet are stamped, and the group grows, moving onto the next.
There’s a lull in the music, the DJ fluffing a mix between “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” and “The Birdie Song.” Seizing the opportunity, one of the crowd leaps atop a table. Perfectly sober, with impeccable balance, he yells, “I’m blowing this Taco Stand. Who’s with me?”
Before waiting for an answer, he swoops off the table and out of the door.
There was a second of shock and then a mass follows him out.
Those left look at each other, confused by the sudden exit.
Outside, the shouter waits, standing on a dustbin. Snow lay on the ground and the air was bitter – but be doesn’t seem cold.
“It’s time to get the fuck out of Dodge, everyone. If you would excuse my French, ladies, it’s colder than a witch’s tit, here. I say South! South for the winter!”
The group looks at each other, cooed “Oohs” and nodding heads abound.
The man flaps his arms and jumps, taking to the air. He looks down at his work mates, his arms flapping in a slow, measured pace. “Come on then!”
He flies over the heads of his startled co-workers who, one after another, flap up and join him.
With one final lap of the car park they fly higher and disappear into the night.
