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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Whelp,  tomorrow is the annual “holiday” party down the office and ol’ Robbo is dreading it.

Real Life Robbo dislikes parties in general, in part because I’m a quiet, keep to myself kind of fellah, and also in part because I have that hearing condition that makes it very hard for me to pick out what is being said by whomever I’m speaking with amid the general din of merry-making.

I dislike these parties in particular because most of my colleagues have, shall we say, somewhat wildly different outlooks on the world than your humble host, and are furthermore equipped with extremely sensitive outrage tripwires.  This means that, unless I want to get myself in serious trouble through some casual non-PC remark, I’m reduced to the most banal of small-talk, something which bores me to tears.

Thus, when I can’t find an excuse for being out of the office altogether on the day of the party, I almost always confine myself to a quick ten minutes at it, making sure that the Important People see me.  Then I slink back to my room, shut the door and try to stay as quiet as possible.  If somebody discovers me skulking, I usually say that I’m waiting for a very important phone call and that I’ll try to come join them later.

Wish me luck, my friends.

UPDATE:  Bueller?……Bueller?…….

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