Just in time for your holiday revelry…

The preposterously monstrous Christmas tree lounged in the corner, moored by guy wires to keep it from spilling joy all over the maple-planked floor. The band of renown (or of disrepute, depending on your view) was set up haphazardly among the lower branches. They were just getting the equipment set up. When the order was given, they would be ready to lay down some serious holiday spirit for their coworkers.

They had labored for months to get to this state of rehearsal and readiness. (It might be better to say that to fit 4 or 5 jam sessions in the name of rehearsing into the last 4 months, everyone squeezed 2 hours out of their busy Sunday afternoons every few weeks. For some of these stalwart lads, it came at the cost of a bit of matrimonial friction, but for want of making noise and a couple of cold beers, the select few struggled to the rehearsals.)

It was a strange concept. The erstwhile “Front Man,” though more of a water-cooler comedian than any form of Singer or Guitarist, had hit on a mildly amusing idea: Share musical expression with coworkers to entertain the rest at the annual holiday party. This stemming from a minor gag about forming a punk band to play all the songs Christmas had to offer. Whatever the lineup, for better or worse, it was always simply dubbed “tinsel,” lower case, little fanfare. Every year, turnover in the office created a different aggregation. Some years, there were many musicians on hand. In lean years, this odd band went on hiatus, due to scheduling conflicts, lack of personnel, or just plain ennui.

On another day, perhaps, we will revisit those strange days of yore. But for today, let’s focus on that last year-the year that was probably the quintessential tinsel. This lineup was probably the closest to the original vision. 2 guitars, keyboards, bass, and drums, vocals almost incidental, but 3 mikes up and live in case any brave souls chose to sing along or play a harmonica amplified.

The Annual Office Holiday Party, named in all its political rectitude, was the centerpiece of the office year, much as the Winter holidays are the centerpiece of the year In Real Life for so many people. Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, New Year’s, Saturnalia, Festivus, and Christmas were all rolled into one safe party. For nearly a decade, it had been consolidated into a whopping 2 hours that the office could be shut down without the sky falling. Certain traditions, especially most of those associated with Festivus and Saturnalia, were not observed too heartily, if at all, at this tee-totaling, “cute” event.

There are as many traditions as people for any given holiday season, and this event was no exception. Months of serious discussion of logistics, food, activities, and the like were conducted at the office. This was the métier of the office’s Social Committee. This organization allowed folks from the office get together to plan fun events for the whole staff. Part Welcome Wagon, part catering service, and part well-oiled fundraising machine, the Committee was the favored child of the mighty Nance Mustly.

She welcomed any staff member wishing to be a Socialite, as tinsel’s erstwhile leader had dubbed them, into the cloistered confines of the Conference Room at the monthly meetings. She knew so much about the running of the office that she could single-handedly perform as the Social Committee; however, she did realize she needed the additional 13 pairs of hands this baker’s dozen of butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers afforded her.

Ideas were slung around the table at the meetings. Many, like spoon-and-potato races and pie fights, were immediately dismissed. However, if 3 or 4 of the women at the huge walnut-stained conference table uttered the word “cute” in regard to a suggestion, that generally suggested the vote for that activity or craft item would pass the muster. More importantly, it would pass the Mustly.

Sudden inspiration of this nature led to a frenzied round of folks offering to work on a facet of The Cute Thing.

“I’ll bring in my elephant’s-foot umbrella stand!”

“I’ll paint the costumes!”

This was the nerve center of the office… the true power in the organization. Certainly, there were tasks assigned by those in the managerial hierarchy; these had their own dynamics and interlinked intrigues, but remained the small subset of “Them.” The Socialites were the corps of the leaders of “Us.”

And “Us” were in their element here at this facility. It was a lovely wooden lodge. The floor decking and the paneling were an almost identical shade of light maple stain. This gave the odd sense that if the building were to tip over, you would still believe you were walking on the floor while walking on the wall.

The Socialites had carefully but quickly decorated the lodge while the band set up their gear. Nance Mustly patrolled all of the areas, her trusty clipboard in hand. She would step up to the small subcommittees and assist each, be it straightening a decoration that 2 folks had just hung up or redistributing chicken wings so that hot and regular were evenly represented on the deli platter. She had left her whistle in the glove compartment; folks were pretty compliant at this party, and there was little danger of walking out into a dark, inebriated stupor after this party. Caffeine overdoses, sure, but no intoxicants.

After all, they reasoned, the holidays aren’t about drinking.

But there were certainly 4 big trays of finger foods laid out. The Keyboard Guy, wisps of bluish ganja smoke still rising from his incidental afro stared, transfixed by the scene, his eyes a lovely holiday shade of carmine red.

“I wonder if anybody cares if I eat?” he asked.

The Rhythm Guitarist shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess they don’t care. You might have to wait a little while, though.” He nodded in the general direction of the food table.

Nance seemed to be inventorying the celery sticks and tomatoes. She was working out some quick napkin math to ensure that the office ladies could free-range satisfactorily at the veggie tray. She topped off the dish of ranch dressing and spread the broccoli and cauliflower out further on the tray.

The Keyboard Guy chewed pensively on his lower lip. “I think I’ll wait.”

“Good call.” The Rhythm Guitarist plugged a live cable into his guitar. A crackle and buzz, then a howl, as his amplifier drilled feedback into everyone’s ears. He laughed and turned down his amp.

The Bass Player then showed up, with his wife and brand-new baby in tow. The baby was a master stroke– a guaranteed “AWWW” from most of the ladies in the audience.

The Drummer, too, was a family man, also with wife and both of their young daughters in tow. They were well known to his specific area of office workers, and they intermingled quickly. They were also able to cajole a few treats from the clutches of the Social Committee Honor Guard at the food table. It was into this charming breach of protocol that the band members were able to score a few bites of food before the “official invite” to nosh was given.

The Front Man puttered with his guitars, amps, PA system, microphones, and the video projector. A behind-the-scenes member of tinsel, who was restricted from attending this year’s bash, had created a great collection of visuals and lyrics to project on the wall behind the band, and a recent recruit was anxiously anticipating operating the computer for AV support. The Drummer also brought several microphones, and they were quickly put in place. The Videographer, hastily brought in, but well equal to the task, set up her video camera on a tripod and was checking shots and zoom lengths during the equipment-setup fracas.

Once set up, Nance Mustly seized the opportunity of an open microphone and a nice, loud PA system. “Welcome to this year’s holiday party,” she said, in her trademark ‘party’ voice, soothing as an automobile horn. She had memorized the agenda, but raised her ubiquitous clipboard just to the edge of her vision for reassurance. “We have a lot of fun and surprises for you today! Lots to get in in the time we have, so let’s go ahead and get some food, mingle, and then I’ll announce the next activity!”

If food be the music of the masses, then eat on. That was certainly a tune many folks in this peculiar organization could play! Mounds of hot wings, piles of delectable cookies, an ornate vegetable platter with myriad dipping sauces, and a wide range of soft drinks made the folding tables they smothered creak under their combined weight. In a very short time, lines formed around all the edges of the food and drink tables.

Staff reverted to calm cattle mode, trained all their lives to behave well in the incessant Lines of Modern Life. High spirits, friendly chatter, and subdued laughter filled the room. This was the one time of year when “diet” meant Whatever You Eat, not Eat Whatever You Are Told To. No need to ask the musicians in the room twice. The band ate their fill, and labored to rid their fingers of residue in anticipation of playing.

Nance announced the next activity, comprising creating a snowman from marshmallows, toothpicks, and raisins in one minute or less. This afforded the band a chance to get tuned up. The Keyboard Guy, since his instrument was basically the reference tuning pitch, was able to get a 3rd plate of food, which he stashed, squirrel-like, at the base of his keyboard stand.

Finally, tinsel was announced. The band changed sounds year to year, and this year was the most “rock and roll” yet. They led off with an acoustic guitar tune to lure the partygoers in… and then jumped to electric guitars wailing out the wassail.

Many of the staff belay their concert-going heritage; these were the ones who were bobbing their heads and laughing, singing along, and enjoying life. Others were almost in shock at the high-volume defacing of holiday favorites. These were the ones hiding wherever they could from the din. Nance Mustly’s Socialite Sense started tingling. She poised, spring steel at the ready to pounce.

The Front Man was astounded that they had gotten through 5 of their 6 songs so well. It was time for the Rhythm Guitarist to come up and sing the final song of the set. He had his back to the crowd as they wound down the last strains of the rocking blues jam. Most of the crowd was cheering.

As they got ready to launch into the last tune, Nance Mustly’s voice rang out through the PA speakers. “Thank you, guys, that was… something! Wow!”

The Front Man said, “Actually, we have one more tune to play!”

Nance brandished her clipboard. “Sorry, guys, that’s all the time we have. Maybe next year.”

The crowd grew a little quiet, watching the delivery of the humble pie. The Front Man acquiesced, saying, “The show must go on.”

Nance Mustly smirked inside. “Make our ears ring, will ya?” she thought. “Nobody screws with the Social Committee.”