Office Holiday Party, Round 2

The holiday party was the inaugural event for the newly renovated space on floor 2. There had been much debate on how to best utilize this space. Some people wanted shower facilities (a lot of crazy Kiwis bike/run to work). Others wanted more meeting rooms. In the end, they decided to make it into a bar. I kid you not.

The buffet included sausages and Christmas ham. However, there were no buns or rolls in which to sandwich your meat. Instead, there were platters of heavily buttered white bread. Disgusting.

The new area has plenty of open space for... dancing! Yes, it was a dance party. Yes, there was strobe lighting. Yes, I was in my glory. They hired a professional DJ. By about 8pm, both the lighting and people's inhibitions had been turned way down low. What song finally got people moving? "Living on a Prayer." Works every time! I don't think it was supposed to be 80s night, but it just so happens that most songs were from that decade, or else they were oldies. The only exception was Katy Perry's "Hot 'n Cold." Very October 2008. The party was very much like a wedding, in terms of musical selection and in terms of the mixed crowd. Many older employees obviously don't drink/dance that often anymore.

Best dancer of the night? Slick Ultra, hands down. He is a mean breakdancer! I can't believe I didn't mention this sooner, but there is a 40-year-old employee whose legal name is Slick Ultra. He was baptized as Stuart. I wish I had a photo. I still haven't decided if he wears a wig or if his hair is naturally that crazy.

In an effort to protect the new carpeting from spills, the entire floorspace was covered with tarps taped together and then taped to the wall. This seems like a good idea at first, but what do you think happens when people spill their drinks on the tarps? It was a virtual slip 'n slide by the end of the night. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.

Hang the Mistletoe!

You might wake up with more than a hangover this holiday season! 49% of Kiwis would like to hook up with a co-worker at their office Christmas party. Despite the survey's small sample size and the questionable motives of its sponsor (a condom manufacturer), I am still inclined to believe this statistic. Didn't I tell you my department's beach party was cuh-razy? Take my word for it.

The season of giving, and receiving (!), continues. The holiday party for the entire office will be held this Friday evening. The venue isn't as impressive (office building vs. beach), but I'm sure the antics will remain entertaining. A strongly-worded memo was sent to all managers to stress that the party is for staff only. Ex-employees and spouses are banned because they seem to have caused a ruckus in years past. However, an exception was made for one and only one person... yours truly! (My contract ended last week.) The Kiwis love me. And let's be honest... when have I ever been known to cause a ruckus?

Party People

My department had an early Christmas party on Friday at Paekakariki Beach, 45 minutes north of Wellington on the Kapiti Coast. It was a beautiful day! For entertainment purposes, there was beach cricket and IRB boat rides. This is basically an inflatable speed boat that fits 2 people. It was very fast and very fun.

There was plenty of entertainment even without those activities. Remember that a normal Friday at work involves 2-3 hours of drinking... then try to imagine what these Kiwis do at a legitimate "party." It did not disappoint! I've been to some parties in my day, and this one ranked right up there.

The festivities began at 1:00pm. Maybe 3 people took the free shuttle van back to the city at 7pm. The rest of us had to fend for ourselves by taking a train home the next day. When I called it a night at 2:00am, some people were still going strong. In the morning, I found someone asleep on the couch in swimming trunks and a cowboy hat.

Let me put it this way -- the accidental revelation that I have been secretly dating a co-worker (now you know too) was barely a blip on the radar screen. What would normally be juicy office gossip paled in comparison to other events. These events included karaoke, salsa dancing, crying, kissing, physical violence, many lost belongings, etc. There was a barbecue fire that melted the knobs off the grill. Don't ask me how some of these people are going to show their faces on Monday morning. I'm embarrassed for them.

I'm proud to report that I was well-behaved and uninvolved in the drama. However, I did suffer a nasty party injury. Someone's dog stole a bottle of Advil from my purse. After chasing him into a corner, I made my move to retrieve the bottle from his mouth. Instead, I came away with a bitten hand and jammed finger. I decided to let that stupid dog keep the Advil, and I don't care if he OD'ed. All I want for Christmas is to be rabies-free.

Elusive young Kiwi male - rear view, hands full

Chocolate Fish

The US has a saying to acknowledge a job well done. “You get a gold star.” This is a little bit tongue-in-cheek, a throwback to elementary school. No one actually gives you a gold star sticker… at least not since your 4th grade spelling test.

NZ also has a saying to acknowledge a job well done. “You get a chocolate fish.” The difference is that the Kiwis will physically hand you a chocolate fish, another one of those “essential Kiwi items.” It is a strawberry peep-like marshmallow with a chocolate shell in the shape of a minnow. You also get a chocolate fish on your saucer when you order a fancy coffee drink like a mochaccino.

Rumor has it that the chocolate fish is typically 6-8 inches; however, I find that the mini 2 inch version is much more common. (Sound familiar, girls??) Believe me, dear readers, size does not matter. Smaller is better because the chocolate fish is more like a punishment than a reward. It is kind of gross. When I’m in charge, I will passive-aggressively distribute chocolate fish to poor performers. The high achievers will be lauded with TimTams and Starburst. Or maybe I’ll expect them to tirelessly work their tails off without recognition or reward. That's the American way, after all.

Returning to the topic of stars, New Zealand loves the saying “You’re a star.” This strikes me as very old-fashioned. I picture granddads saying it in the 1950s. I picture black-and-white Hollywood glamour… a skeevy agent telling a young Marilyn Monroe that he’ll make her famous.

Whenever I complete some menial task at work, people say, “Thanks Maureen, you’re a star!”* I hear this left and right. Please, Kiwis, tell me something I don't know.

* When this praise is delivered via email, it is often written as "YOUR a star!" Guess who didn't get a gold star on the 4th grade spelling test.

Scared Straight

New Zealand has some rather graphic public service announcements - I gather that the country's main problems are gambling, domestic violence and binge drinking. The ads can be disturbing and/or unintentionally funny. I've heard quite a few people discuss this ad, which features a drunk man dropping a child at a picnic. It reminds me of this year's Fourth of July (you know who you are...)

As if you need another reason not to mix alcohol and children -- there was a 6-month-old baby at the office's Drinkie Friday this week. I alerted the baby's attentive father: "Um, he just put a bottle cap in his mouth." I am single-handedly saving New Zealand from itself, one young Kiwi male at a time.

Send This to 5 Friends For Good Luck

Just like in the US, Kiwi office workers spend their day forwarding email jokes and chain letters. I used to get at 1 or 2 emails a week that made fun of George Bush in one way or another, but New Zealand is starting to change its tune. Check out the website that was passed around yesterday...
http://www.nothingisimpossible.co.nz/

Election Quiz

N to the ZED is a self-fulfilling prophecy! When I write about something, it tends to come true. Yesterday, I told you about my American trivia skills. Today, the newspaper dedicated its entire quiz to American politics. I dominated at office "morning tea!" This is obviously an homage to Election Day, Tues Nov 4, which hasn't happened for you, but is almost over for me.

Now you have 2 ways to show your patriotism today: 1) vote; and 2) take the NZ quiz! The correct answers appear in the comments.

1. Who formally selects the US president and vice president?
2. Who comes from the city of Wasilla?
3. What was the middle name of President Richard M. Nixon?
4. What was the nationality of Barack Obama's father?
5. Which US political party abolished slavery?
6. What do the letters "DC" stand for in Washington DC?
7. Which US president pushed the economic reforms known as the New Deal?
8. The US Senate and House of Representatives are jointly known as what?
9. Which part of the US Constitution guarantees freedom of religion, speech, and the press?
10. What make of car is currently used as the official limousine of the US president?

Seeing that I've been an American my entire life, you'd think the Kiwis would shut up and listen to me. But no... the office creep gives me lots of trouble with question #1.

Me: It's the electoral college.
Him: I don't know... what about all that controversy about choosing between Obama and Hillary... you know... don't some votes count more than others? Blah, blah, blah.
Me: Superdelegates?
Him: Yes, that's it.
Me: That's different.
Him: Hmm... I'm not sure.
Me: That's about the nominees. The question is about the winner.
Him: I don't know....
Me: It's the electoral college.

This quiz was right up my alley, but it still gave me an inferiority complex. The Kiwis knew many of the answers. I doubt Americans would fare as well in a quiz about foreign politics. Also, the Kiwis expected me to supplement my answers. They weren't satisfied to learn that FDR started the New Deal; they wanted me to explain the New Deal. I haven't thought about this since the 11th grade.

Of course, quiz time ends with questions about how I'll vote tomorrow and jokes about the war on terror. I explain that I voted weeks ago. I've already told you that people constantly ask who I voted for, but they also want to know the nitty-gritty details of how I voted from abroad. Much of this interest stems from media reports that absentee ballots weren't counted in the 2000 Bush/Gore election.

Hardly Working

My office recently changed its email program from Groupwise (which I had never even heard of) to Microsoft Outlook 2003. Hello, year 2002!! There were many, many hours of staff training behind this conversion. Ridiculous.

After one grueling training session, the young Kiwi male facilitator approached me. "You probably already know all this?" Well, since you asked... "Yeah, and 2003 isn't the most recent version of Outlook." I didn't realize how snotty this sounded until it was already out of my mouth. Luckily, he found it funny and not offensive. He explained that they have to use the 2003 version because some computers are still operating on Windows 2000. We shared a laugh over his country's backwards business practices.

Despite my above-it-all attitude, I'm really endearing myself to the Kiwis. I do next to nothing at this job, but the Kiwis think I'm super-productive. A little American work ethic goes a long way in New Zealand! I could have held down this job when I was 11... and email didn't even exist when I was 11. The most challenging part of my day is remembering to speak slowly and use Kiwi English. Everyone found it sooo funny that I told my boss to call his mom instead of his mum. If I was in America, I'd tell this guy to cut the apron strings and get back to work.

Watch your back, Helen Clark!* If I stayed in the NZ government, I could easily rise to the ranks of Prime Minister within a decade. Come to think of it, I'm pretty much qualified to run for VP of the US these days too. Sarah would surely agree that kissing a Kiwi counts as foreign policy experience.**

* Pay attention to paragraph 3 of the "early life" section of Helen's bio. You cried throughout your wedding ceremony because you had a headache? Really now??

** Not that I have or have not been involved in such activities.

Riddle Me This

Forget rugby or cricket, New Zealand's true national pastime is trivia. Kiwis eat it up. Every written publication contains a quiz, and every bar has a weekly quiz night. Every morning around 10:15, my department gathers for "morning tea" to complete the quiz from the Wellington Dominion Post newspaper. It is serious business. The answers, which are already printed upside down, are further concealed to prevent cheating. The question is read aloud. We debate. We settle on an answer and move to question #2. This continues for 10 questions. We check the answers. The reader gives clues and "sounds like" hints for any questions we missed. The whole process takes about 35 minutes, and then it is almost time for my lunch break. The Kiwis are a hard-working and productive people.

The Kiwis are well-rounded, but I am good for only one thing. I am the office expert for American trivia. You don't know pressure until you have 10 sets of Kiwi eyes staring you down. I feel like their opinion of the US as a whole is dependent on my perceived intelligence. I don't feel smart when I answer the questions; I just feel relieved. To be honest, quiz time makes me feel stupid because I have such a narrow frame of reference. Their knowledge of America far surpasses my knowledge of any other country.

In any case, I'm the only one who knew the answer to these (pretty easy) American questions: What does UCLA stand for? What city's transportation system is known as BART? What political couple was implicated in Whitewater? What is John McCain's home state? What author lived at Walden Pond? What state is abbreviated MT?

It's no coincidence that New Zealand has a gaming addiction. The anti-gambling PSAs are outnumbered only by the pokies. Buy just about any item at just about any store and you'll automatically be "entered in the draw" to win some fabulous prize. Today at work, we placed bets on the Melbourne Cup. Keep in mind that New Zealand typically refuses to associate with Australia. Cross your fingers for my guy Gallopin! He's one of the only Kiwi horses in the race. I stand to win 50 big ones!

HalloweeNZ

Several of you have asked if New Zealand celebrates Halloween. Not really. They know it's Halloween, but costume parties and trick-or-treaters are rare. A few Kiwis told me that Halloween has become more popular over the years as a result of American influences, but it's still not a very big deal.

The fortnightly work NOSH (aka: national office social hour, Drinkie Friday) had a Halloween theme. Again, it was so budget and so fun. People took turns wearing a witch hat. Fake spiderwebs hung from the ceiling, and the boardroom windows were covered in something like black saran wrap. (I was shocked to learn it was still daylight when this was taken off the windows at 7pm last call.... kind of like when you exit a movie theatre in the middle of the day.) For food, there was a bowl of fruit snacks and a platter of corn dogs with that gross NZ tomato sauce. They had 2-for-1 drink specials on soon-to-be expired beer.

We continued on to the bars after NOSH, but it was just like any other night out in Welly. The only sign of Halloween was a plastic knife sticking out of a bartender's skull. A few girls were dressed like slutty nurses, slutty cats, or other types of sluts. But, as you know, this isn't exactly a costume for the Kiwi woman.

World Series Update

While you were watching game 2 of the World Series on Thursday night, I was "working" on Friday afternoon. My co-worker continues to attempt to keep me informed about the games. He passes along updates from mlb.com. Sometimes they don't make sense.

Him: 4-2 in the bottom of the 9th.
Me: Good, the Phillies are winning.
Him: No, the Phillies are losing.
Me: I think the game is in Florida? There wouldn't be a bottom of the 9th if the Phillies were losing.
Him: Oh, well... um... let me check.
Me: Yeah, you do that.
Him: It's the top of the 9th. You were right.

Don't you forget it, young Kiwi male! The American girl is always right.

Another note about work on Friday -- I assumed work drinking would be canceled because it was NZ's Labour Day Weekend. Who wants to stay late at the office when a 3-day holiday weekend awaits? The Kiwis, that's who!! The office fridge was cleared out to make room for beer at 11:17am. I got nervous when 4:00 rolled around and no one had yet made a move, but the Kiwis didn't let me down. 12th Floor Drinkie Friday was in full swing by 4:30pm.

Go Phils!

It was a classic coming of age tale. I dedicated the summer of 1993 to following the Phillies on their road to the World Series. I knew every detail about every player. We subscribed to the pay-channel PRISM so I could watch all the games. I wanted to marry Darren Daulton, who has since completely lost his marbles (I can really pick 'em). The Blue Jays' Joe Carter robbed me of my childhood innocence when he hit that home run. I cried myself to sleep and woke up as a jaded adolescent. I dislike Canada to this day. Toronto is where dreams go to die.

Fifteen years later and half a world away, I am once again the authority on the Phillies and their quest for the World Series championship. My life has come full circle! Nevermind that I haven't watched a game all season. The Kiwis don't know sh*t about baseball and they think I'm from Philadelphia, so I'm regarded as the resident expert.

This guy at work makes a serious effort to talk to to me about the Phillies and the playoffs everyday. This must be what the kids call "flirting," right? I've been known to misinterpret these things, but I see no other explanation in this case because you have to go out of your way to find baseball news/scores from New Zealand. He confuses the American League and the National League, which I find endearing. He uses fancy terms like "runs batted in," which I suspect he learned on the internet. "A" for effort, young Kiwi male! Clearly, this man is madly in love with me.

Thank you, Chase Utley, for bringing me closer to the young Kiwi male. You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself! And Chase - one more thing - do me a solid and please, please, please drag this series out to a full 7 games. My future depends on it.

Special note to Philly readers: I'm relying on you to share insider info on these games so I can continue to impress the Kiwis.

Scotland, NZ

This Thursday, people started asking whether I would attend NOSH on Friday. I assumed this was some type of important meeting. Wrong. National Office Social Hour.

Last weeks' Drinkie Friday was only for my department; NOSH is a fortnightly event for the whole office. Departments take turns planning the NOSH and selecting a theme. Yes, it is a theme party! This week was "Scotland." At 3:45pm, people began sneaking off to the bathroom to change into kilts and tartan scarves. We moved down to the large 7th floor conference room at 4pm.

I wish you could have been there, dear readers! This is as close as I will ever get to a Dunder-Mifflin office party. The conference room houses a true bar. Drinks are $3 (a real bar charges ~$7), or you can buy a laminated hole-punch NOSH card that gets you 10 drinks for $25. The concept is similar to Schrute Bucks and Stanley Nickels.

Rugby jerseys hung from a makeshift clothesline. Tea towels and various other pictures of Scotland were taped to the windows. The walls were plastered with low-resolution photos of famous Scots, such as Annie Lennox, Billy Connelly and... Ronald McDonald. (Isn't he a red-blooded American??) Fat Bastard was conspicuously absent from this collage, so I've pictured him here. There was a 2 page print-out of Scottish facts. Someone had circled a "fact" about the coat of arms and handwritten "WRONG" across the page. That was all the entertainment I needed, but then the bagpiper showed up! And the haggis was presented! And the winner of the costume contest was awarded a bottle of Scottish whiskey!

Everyone is pretty loose at these official work functions; no boundaries between work life/social life. Someone spilled red wine on my white purse. Also, they wouldn't know an inappropriate comment if walked right up and stroked their arm. I surely have grounds for a sexual harassment lawsuit, if only their New Zealand dollars were worth something.

The Kiwis stormed the bar when NOSH announced last call at 7pm. As if there aren't 50 places within walking distance that will be open until 5am...

Talking Shop

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Office conversations in New Zealand naturally divide along gender lines. The women talk about weight gain and various body image issues. The men talk about sport (singular). It's universal! Guess which topic (or which group of people) interests me more?

I can only fake it for so long in a conversation about cricket. The men notice me floundering and begin asking questions about American sports (plural). Guy #1 tells me his brother-in-law used to play "gridiron" for the Tennessee Vols. Guy #2 engages me in a conversation about the "BoSox" and Fenway Park - not because I've lived in Boston, but because it is the only team he knows. I don't have the heart to tell him that no one in Red Sox Nation actually uses the term "BoSox." He makes a snide remark about the Sox having won "YOUR world series." Kiwis love to rib America for calling its baseball championship the world series. I see their point.

Guy #1 asks us to explain Fenway's green monster. During the course of my tutorial, it becomes evident that he's unfamiliar with the concept of a home run. Like any man, he pretends he knows what he's talking about, but I see right through him. Silly young Kiwi male, do I have to teach you everything?? You exhaust me.

Working Girl, Part 3

Naturally, Drinkie Friday at work resulted in humiliation. You probably predicted this. Hey, don't ever accuse me of learning from my mistakes!

The office bathrooms are located in the stairwell and you need to swipe your ID to get back in to the main floor. Drinkie Friday lasts into the night, and I learn the hard way that my temporary ID card hasn't been enabled with 24-hour access. After unsuccessfully swiping my ID about 20 times, I accept that I am trapped in the stairwell. For some unknown reason, I decide to walk from the 12th floor up to the 13th floor. Can't get in there either. Then I walk down to the 11th floor because that is usually open to the public, but it is also locked after 5pm. I go back up to the 12th floor. The Kiwi women are downing the wine like water, and I figure one of them will come to the bathroom soon enough and I'll sneak back in. So I wait... and wait... and wait. Finally, I bang on the door until someone comes to my rescue. When I return to the party, everyone says they assumed I went home without saying goodbye. Americans are so rude!

For my next trip to the bathroom (the wine was flowing freely on Drinkie Friday), I borrow someone else's ID so I can get back in. I do this on the sly so as not to call attention to myself. Then my boss sees me heading down the hallway and yells, "No Maureen! Wait! Remember you'll get locked out!" Yes, thank you for reminding everyone.

I've had enough embarrassment for one night. In a rare display of good judgement, I limit myself to only one tequila shot with the co-workers. I have to face these people again on Monday morning.

Working Girl, Part 2

This earthquake stuff is serious business. As part of my job training, I had to review the office's disaster preparedness plan. Among the items I am advised to keep in my desk:

• non-perishable food
• can opener
• 3-5 liters of bottled water
• warm shirt
• walking shoes
• waterproof jacket
• essential medications
• plastic bags
• dust mask
• torch (flashlight) with extra batteries
• sunscreen
• deck of cards and/or board games

One of these things is not like the others; One of these things just doesn't belong; Can you tell which thing is not like the others; By the time I finish my song? (Remember that little ditty from Sesame Street?)

The Kiwis acknowledge they might slowly starve to death while trapped in the office, but damnit, they're gonna have fun doing it! At least I'll die knowing how I stack up against my co-workers in a game of Yahtzee. I promise to represent America to the best of my ability, even if my rolling hand has been crushed by falling debris.

Working Girl, Part 1

Big news! I have successfully infiltrated the New Zealand government. I have taken on a new full-time job in addition to my part-time job. I'm a glutton for punishment. I regret this decision almost immediately, but it will only last a few weeks. Plus, this exposes me to a whole new side of the Kiwi culture. I should know better than to blog about work (you're fired!), but I feel compelled to tell you to start searching for jobs in New Zealand right now. Employment is one big party.

A peek inside the office kitchen cupboard gives me the first clue. One shelf of coffee mugs, one shelf of drinking glasses, and one shelf of wine glasses. While searching for office supplies, I come across a filing cabinet full of cases (plural!) of beer. Later, my supervisor tells me to make sure no one breaks into the booze supply. I'm on it, boss! He asks if I have an adequate supply of rubbers. Who has he been talking to?! I know he's referring to rubber bands, but this still makes me laugh. He also tells me they usually have "some wines" on Fridays if I'm interested. Yes, very much so. Just to make sure we're totally clear on this, he reminds me again on Thursday, "Remember we're having drinkies tomorrow" (accompanied by the international gesture for drinking - tilting an imaginary glass to his mouth). Oh believe me, I most certainly will not forget about the drinkies.

This isn't unique to my department. Dawn's office does the same thing. It's not as if they leave early to go to happy hour or congregate in the conference room at 4:30 for a quick drink before going home. They simply pour themselves a glass of wine at their desk and continue "working." Who isn't at her best when she's under the influence? Not the Kiwis! Not me!

I know other countries have relaxed attitudes toward drinking, but this still surprises me. I don't think it would be allowed in the American workplace, right?? At least not in a government office. Cheers to you, taxpayers of New Zealand! Thank you for the beer.