The Office Christmas Party

Day 68

Friday

Incredulous. That was the face I wore all day. I wished I had Dorothy’s ruby red slippers, not because I wanted to go home, I just wanted to click my heels together and know whether I was dreaming or in reality. Even if the day was real, I wonder how I was lucky enough to join such a fantastical reality.

In Spain, just like in America, the Friday before Winter Break is scrapped, teachers put in movies, kids play games, recess stretches out into the late afternoon and rules melt away as the heaters pump holiday warmth through the building. Spain likes to celebrate the futility of education during the holidays a bit differently. And boy did I feel like a kid at Christmas.

Those plushy buses with lean back seats and TV screens to dull the eyes during a long ride pulled up to Los Llanos (my school) at 9:30 am and the general chaos of children, like a bundle of thread unspun itself, lines of classes filing into the 5 buses. Descending from the mountains we head for the nearest city, with the only shopping mall in a 30 mile radius. Propping my knees up on the seat ahead of me like I did all those years ago as a bus-riding student, it felt odd to be the authority figure, I didn’t have my best friend next to me to chat with, I couldn’t really read my book, nor could I just zone out and stare out the window. Rather, I was in the back, patrolling the rows with my stern gaze, hollering the driver to stop when poor Albert puked 10 minutes in the ride (the roads are ridiculously curvy, but still, 10 minutes into the ride is way too soon for anyone to puke). I’m sure dear old Antonio felt sorry for me, dealing with pukers and girls passing around illegal chewing gum, so he wandered back to sit with me on one of his tours. A local to Álora, he knew the country side well. He pointed out to the mountains and said he imagined Northern California must look something like Álora, only without Hollywood. I laughed and said that I was actually just reminiscing about my summer in Northern California and all the verdant green countryside, Álora had made me surprisingly nostalgic. He then got a devious smile and asked me what I thought the names of the mountains were. I shook my head, clueless. He said, “Acha.” And proceeded to tell me how the mountains used to be used as posts to send messages in the form of smoke signals to neighboring pueblos in the case of an emergency. I told him that didn’t sound so different from the American Indians in my country and to my great surprise he knew all the different tribes, their respective locales and customs. And so, Antonio and I chatted amicably the whole way to the shopping center in Coin, the gentle old professor who knew the history of the world, only pausing occasionally to teach the bus full of 5th and 6th graders new songs to sing. Riding through the valleys of Álora, ringing with the voices of the youth of Spain, while smiling at the stories of the oldest professor, I recalled Edie Turner (one of my most life changing Anthro professors) and knew that she’d see the communitas in it all, and tell me that I was part of that communitas, finally.

Arriving in Coin, we shuttled lines of energetic kids to the movie theater to see the latest Narnia. It was quite a field trip, all expenses paid into the theater, including a popcorn and soda. Which in retrospect might have been a bad idea for 80+ children. We overran the theater, not only taking all the seats, but with our voices, our trash and our visits to the bathroom during the film. None of the teachers were really excited about seeing Narnia, they were just glad that it counted as a work day when all they did was say “yes, you may go to the bathroom” and sit quietly in the dark. Sitting next to my new best friends, Antonio and Antonia (the oldest professors in the school, both who will retire at the end of the year; funny side note – Antonia is trying to set me up with her youngest (32yrs old, ahem) son who is a fireman, who just can’t seem to find the right girl, hahaha), Narnia was a metaphorically appropriate movie for the moment. Recognizing the end of childhood and moving into adulthood, saying goodbyes, and guarding memories. I certainly didn’t cry, but it made me a bit more pensive then most kids movies do. I soon lost all pensiveness because upon arriving back at the school at 2:15pm, the annual Teacher’s Christmas party began. And I was completely unprepared for what ensued. And I loved it.

Catching a ride with one of the bi-lingual teachers (my pseudo-mom/girl who’s got my back in Spain) Meri, we went to a local bar to hang out with the other professors until the principals got off work at 3:30pm for lunch. The owner of the local organic farm (who supplies our school with food for lunch) was at the bar and more or less acted as the host of the party. Buying everyone his organic wine and rounds of local beer, we chatted and drank. (Note- while I encourage everyone to eat organic, I do NOT encourage the imbibing of organic wine. It is loathsome. It acts more as a vomit inducing liquid than happy hour fun). Not having adjusted to Spanish time (and not being interested in adjusting for that matter) I was starving by 3pm and drunk off some eco-friendly wine that tasted like fermented laundry detergent. Meri, ever prudent, had fanta, while encouraging me to have another class of a local wine. By the time I had turned 5 shades more red than a blushing bride, the group decided to head to the restaurant where the Christmas Party Luncheon would be held. Meri and I waltzed in (I say waltz because we indeed did waltz, not sure I could have walked a straight line if an officer asked me) and the principal (who’s being paid to be nice to me, I know it) reaches out to greet me with besos and hands me a glass of beer. Great. Just what I need. And when are you allowed to say no to your boss? Meri sticks with me, bless her heart, knowing I’m already out of place because of the language and about an age gap of at least 15 years, so we chat with the gym teacher about an incident that happened the other day. He and Meri were laughing and by the time I understood what they were talking about, I was too stunned to add anything to the conversation, besides a few moments of brighter blushing and nervous laughter. Apparently the other day one of the girls had started her period during recess and her best friend had screamed out that she was dying and was bleeding to death. The poor girl thought she had internal bleeding and was about to keel over. So the gym teacher (obviously a male) rushed her inside, while assuring her that she was not dying, rather she was very much alive, and that Meri, her teacher would explain everything. I remember standing in the restaurant and having this exact thought “I’m drinking beer, in Spain, and talking about menstruation with the gym teacher. What the fuck?” But being tipsy already, it didn’t seem too outlandish. After the mandatory meet and greet time period was up we all sat around a Harry Potter style table, extending the length of the restaurant and began “La Comida” (the meal).

To start, olives, roasted almonds, chips, bread, and wine. (And water at my request).
Followed by a plate of Iberian Ham. (Polite smile and wave of the hand, amidst whispers of ‘she’s a vegetarian, yes, vegetarian, only eats salad.’)
Followed by a platter of cheese (at the request of the (most ironically) vegetarian professor next to me.)
Followed by a head of lettuce split four ways, like a star, swirling in olive oil and vinegar, dashed with cloves of garlic and pimiento. (Being the vegetarian, I was offered by everyone if I’d like their salad because they didn’t want it. After eating 3 people’s salad I had to joke that even a veg. could get sick of lettuce)
Followed by a rice, shrimp, pimiento dish, wearing a cape of red sauce (didn’t touch this, smelled fishy)
Followed by deep friend eggplant drizzled in honey. (Despite the deep fry yuckiness, it was delightful; my taste buds did not expect to like this.)
Followed by a HUGE plate of revuelto (like a scrambled eggs with mixed veggies thrown in with veggies on the side). (I had to ask them to put this in a doggy bag for me, which they literally threw in a bag haha, because NO ONE takes home leftovers, because I was stuffed by the time the main course of revuelto came. Note-everyone else at some sort of filet/steak/ham/chicken/fish platter)
Followed by dessert…a cornucopia of cakes and flans and ice-cream.
Followed by café (espresso or cappuccino)
Followed by a liqueur chuppito (a shot)
Followed by a round of water
Followed by a chuppito
Followed by smoking (not me).
Followed by the obligatory last minute café.
Followed by a farewell chupito.

All through this mayhem there was singing, talking, screaming, changing of seats, sharing of food, laughing uncontrollably and demanding of more wine. I had never been to a Christmas party of this caliber. And the whole time I was seated by the professor that taught the 3 year olds (who as he said, didn’t like beer, but yes, he was still a man.) and Meri. Hilarious juxtaposition, to be seated with the most conservative sober Spaniards of all, while la Vida Espanola raged around us. 7 hours after this all began Meri drove me home at 9:15pm. Before I get out of her car though she hands me a gift which makes me beam. She bought me a pair of magnificent earrings (big and dangly, apparently my style is pretty easy to take note of) along with a card that said, Dear Katie, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! All the best, Meri (hilarious in light of the fact that that was the message I had all my students write in their own xmas cards they gave out to their classmates). Full of food, merriment and FRIENDSHIP, I wandered back to my piso, delightfully tired.

Then at 10:15pm I get a call from my boss who tells me that all the professors decided to ditch Álora and head into the city and I should join them at the bar they had flocked to. And so I joined my colleagues and my boss for dancing and drinks. Nervous as hell at first, never having partied with my superiors, but soon let loose when one of my favorite teachers, Janire bought me a drink and had me stand with her because she had just had major surgery and couldn’t walk. I loosened up even more when she tried to dance by putting one crutch overhead and knocked the decorative surfboard off the wall onto all our colleagues dancing.

I couldn’t imagine any of this happening in the USA. Even though I gripe about Spain, it is so invested in creating and sustaining community and I have a great respect for that. Especially because it has invited me to be part of that community. The human spirit is alive and well in Spain. And it looks to you.