Partying Is Such Sweet Sorrow

Genia Spencer, Randstad's managing director of operations and human resources, says, "One of my colleagues here always says at the beginning of party season that you won't make your career at the company party, but you can easily lose it."

It is a party, after all, so naturally, people let their guard down. That's usually a mistake. "The fact that it's fun is deceptive," says Kerry Sulkowicz, a psychoanalyst and adviser to chief executives. "And that's what makes it so dangerous."

LAST YEAR, REBECCA AND HER COLLEAGUES, who work for a nonprofit in Washington, dutifully trudged out to Northern Virginia to attend a holiday party being thrown by a vendor. "It really helps with the relationship," she says of why they make the effort to go. "We get to know them on a personal level."

Sometimes a little too personal.

At the party, a small group had congregated to do the usual "so what does your company do?" networking routine. The group started regaling each other with workplace horror stories, trading anecdotes about interns showing up for work in tube tops and other inappropriate office wear. That's when the vendor's wife suddenly jumped in: "Yeah, people like that get what they deserve," she said. "Just like those people in New Orleans!"

The conversation halted, and the co-workers looked at one another trying to discern whether it was a joke. But no, the woman went on. Dregs of society. Poor. No wonder they got stuck there in the hurricane.

Then the vendor himself came over to join in the conversation. He did not cut off his wife's rantings. "I estimate that guy lost about five clients that night," says Rebecca, who didn't want her last name used because she didn't want to compromise her relationship with other vendors. "We haven't used him since."

THOSE WHO ARE ASKED TO HELP PLAN A HOLIDAY PARTY sometimes wind up feeling as though they are stuck in the middle of a bad episode of the TV show "The Office."

Jen Teal worked for a federal agency's field office last year and was asked to help plan a lavish off-site party for the employees and their spouses at a local hotel. ("Not funded by the tax dollar, mind you," she says.)

The big boss wanted her to book a deejay. So she found one that had a Web site where people could enter song requests. To make sure the workers would have fun at the party, Jen publicized the Web address in the office so everyone could select the songs they wanted to dance to in the hotel ballroom. And they did: "Friends in Low Places," "Hot in Here" and "Get the Party Started."

A few days went by, and Jen was called into the big boss's office. He was livid about the playlist. He said the songs were crude and obnoxious, and asked Jen to overwrite all the selections and replace them with his preferences. "He wanted a 'Sopranos' soundtrack. Lots of Sinatra, 'Mack the Knife' and 'Cotton-Eyed Joe' because he knew a dance to it," she remembers.

Jen knew that if she changed the songs to the boss's choices, no one would dance, and she would be blamed for the party's lameness.