Have You Considered That I Hate You?

Back from lunch, I have a voicemail waiting for me. It's 2 PM, and a woman upstairs has called to "give me a second chance" to attend this year's holiday party.

I would ordinarily brush this kind of thing off, but it bothers me that I am specifically being given a second chance, as though my utter lack on enthusiasm about attending the holiday party the first time I had the chance to sign up was a mistake.

Bear in mind: last year's holiday party was a trip to the rainforest habitat at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo. We had dinner, saw some capybaras, and enjoyed the live musical styling of a steel drummer. It wasn't amazing. Nobody put a lampshade on his head or called a superior a dirty name. It was just a fun, friendly buffet-style gathering for "employee plus one" with crocodiles nearby.

This year, it's dinner and a Cavs game. Which would be great if you don't hate basketball and all it stands for. No extras: can't bring friends. Can't bring family. The basic rundown is that we have 30 minutes to get from work to The Quicken Loans Arena on Prospect Avenue. Then we eat, then we watch the game.

Excuse me while I gag myself with a spoon. It would be a whole hell of a lot more fun than watching basketball, that much is for sure. So I ignored the invite. But now, I guess, I've been given a second chance.

Must be my birthday.