This was not the case. My coworker's house looked like it belonged on Lake Havasu instead of a little puddle here in the South. It was gorgeous. The water was deep blue and warm. It reminded me of being in Florida.

[DISCLOSURE: I guess I should take a minute and give you a little backstory. I work for an Agency-- it's captialized for a reason, infer what you will-- hereto unnammed in the Southeast. Since I'd like to keep my job, so that's as much identification as I'll allow. So when I sound all bureaucratic and talk about branches and such, please understand that subterfuge is just part of the job. For my profession I list "Workerbee." Yeah? Buzz, buzz Motherfucker. As to what I acutally -do- for a living? Well, it's computer-ish-progam-ish-system-ish-analyst-ish-related. END DISCLOSURE.]

As with all jobs of my type in this field, there's a lot of diverse types of people who work with me. Diverse as in racially, educationally and ethically. For the most part, we get along. While I was organizing this little extravaganza, it looked like it was going to be a "white folks party" (coinage my own, thank you). Not one non-caucasion person wanted to attend. (I almost typed "caucazoid." Oooh, funny! It's a word, I swear!) Excuses: City Stages was in town / Not giving up a Saturday to work/ Father's Day weekend. This I found to be extremely depressing because first of all, I don't want the racial hellstorm to come down on me for this, I'm just following instructions. Secondly, it'd be waaaaaay more fun if everyone showed up. Yes, I just said "fun" in a discussion about office parties. I appreciate the mix of people we have at my office. For a while it was bleak. No one signed up, no one agreed to bring BBQ stuff. Then, miraculously by Friday, we had about half of my branch signed up. People signed up to bring food. Woot. If I could just get someone to bring some booze!

Saturday rolled around and I loaded up everything I was supposed to bring and began the 1.5 hour drive up there. It's funny, here I was convinced that I already lived in Nowhereville, but then I spend my weekends driving further into nowhere. I assumed that nowhere was closer to nowhere. Apparently outside of Nowhereville is just as bleak as nowhere itself.

My parents agreed to be my dates since this was a spouse-et-family affair. Since BA is nothing similar to a spouse (thank god) they were the best alternative. Plus, they brought pasta salad and sunny dispositions. BA would have not been able to muster any of that.

[Oh, and BA is "Big Al." Not his name, not his nickname, but a dig at him nonetheless. For more information on BA: look up "asshole" at Wikipedia.]

The thing about an office party is that you put on good clothes and you go-- not because you want to. Not to have a good time or to relax. You go because you're supposed to. You are seen doing a work related activity. So I went up to the lake in a linen suit. I served people lunch. I posed for pictures. I ate an overcooked hamburger. Whee! I hugged and thanked my parents for coming along and suffering with me. I went home tired.

I'm a good little Workerbee.