Christmas Party, Bernalillo County Medical Center

 ‘Tis the season of the obligatory Christmas party in the workplace.  Everyone dreads it.  It’s not about gemutlichkeit.  I’m not sure what it’s about.  

My most memorable holiday workplace gathering was in 1973 at the Bernalillo County Medical Center in Albuquerque, where I worked for six months in the steno pool of the radiology department.

 With headphones, a tape recorder, and Dorland’s Medical Dictionary, I sat in a cubicle transcribing radiology reports dictated by radiologists sitting in their cubicles, feet propped on their desks.  Having recently achieved a Master’s degree in English literature from UNM, I was in demand for transcribing because I could distinguish “spondylosis” from “spondylolisthesis,” and words like that.

 Recently, I went through a box of papers from those New Mexico days and found a vignette about the radiology department Christmas party.  Being “P.C.” hadn’t reached Albuquerque in December 1973.

Here’s what I wrote:

Christmas Party, Bernalillo County Medical Center

December 1973

Someone announces over the loudspeaker, “Christmas party in the conference room,”

 We chipped in for cold cuts, brought goodies from home:  deviled eggs, Swiss cheese and crackers, cranberry relish, pink jello salad, fruitcake, and Mexican wedding cookies. Mary Dullea brought posole, which we eat in paper cups. The spiked punch is gone in fifteen minutes.

Mrs. Petty stage whispers, "We shoulda made chicken soup for Dr. Kopperman."

Sandra brought bunuelos, learned to make them in her Mexican cooking class. Consuela spits hers into the wastebasket, hisses to Teresa, "I've never tasted anything like that."

Sandra hears her, gets huffy, says, "They're Mexico City style. Not New Mexico."

Kyle, the security guard, plays Santa.  Evie drew my name, gives me three pair of bikini panties, each with a drink recipe on it.  On the q.t., Mary Dullea tells me she is selling hot Navajo jewelry for her brother-in-law in Arizona.

The custodians are having their own party upstairs. Lucille doesn’t like their food and complains,  "They're playing Spanish music and I can't understand a word of it." She writes her recipe for sweet potato pie on a pink, "While You Were Out" pad, tells me it's her new husband's favorite. He's from the Bahamas, hates Albuquerque.

They pass around a card to slip into Poopsie’s in-box.   She’s secretary to Dr. B, the chief of radiology. The card is a photo of a penis with glasses and a little Santa hat. Underneath it says, "Seasons Greetings. Guess Who?"

Poopsie won’t come to our party. The way she refers to herself as, "executive secretary," emphasizing the "zec," I know she won't show. Evie thinks she's having a mad affair with her boss.   I think Poopsie simply hates us all, especially this time of year.

Evie is pregnant, thrilled about it.  We laugh when she pops a button on her blouse because her boobs are getting big.  The conference room is near the nursery and the maternity ward.  When someone opens the door, you can hear an infant cry.

“Baby Hay-Soos,” Mrs. Petty says every time.