In the four months leading up to tonight’s Christmas party, I’ve heard no less than 335 different accounts of last year’s Christmas party speech. These varying accounts - or myths, as I like to think of them - have done severe levels of damage to YHC’s psyche. In an effort to set the record straight, please humor me by considering the truth about the now-infamous 2017 Christmas party speech.
For starters, my heart was in the right place. I’d spent the week prior to the party thinking of all the things I appreciated about F3. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something. Behind every good HIM is a great M. So as I wrote the first 19 drafts of said speech, I focused heavily on finding interesting ways to thank our M’s. When I finished with the 20th “draft”, I knew I had something good in hand. I hit the print key on my laptop, pulled the still-warm paper off the printer, and carefully folded the stack just so.
The M and I arrived to the party - held at arguably F3 Carpex’s favorite watering hole - just a little late. The M was starving, so we headed to the food table right off the bat. We were spared the Christmas Crud by the shear grace of our Heavenly Father. Before I could even scoop out the last of the veggie lasagna, one of my favorite PAX was shoving a nice cold beer into my large and willing hand. The night was off to a great start.
This same PAX asked if I was being serious about giving a speech. You see, no had asked YHC to give a speech, so I must take at least some responsibility for what happened that fateful night. YHC felt freed to lead, however, and made it clear weeks in advance that he’d be spending a little time on the mic the night of the party. Everyone seemed fine with this. I wouldn’t say anyone was delighted by it, per se, but no one put up too much of a fight.
“Oh, of course,” I said to this PAX. “It’s about to go down.”
And down it went.
Ma Bell kicked off the speeches by talking about…well…I don’t remember. Evidently it wasn’t all that important. Next, Shut-In gave his annual State of the F3 Union address, filling the PAXs’ minds with just a whole lot of filler. As his boring-ass speech was winding down, YHC could sense a buzz in the air. The PAX were starting to get restless, presumably in anticipation of YHC’s killer speech.
Sure enough, when Shut-In FINALLY shut his snivelly little mouth, it was YHCs turn.
As I stepped onto the…box? I don’t even know what the hell it was…I expertly pulled off a classic jokey-joke. “Oh man, I’m totally unprepared for a speech” /reaches into back pocket, pulls out 4 pages of single-spaced front and back speech “I guess I can wing it and we’ll see where this goes!”
It killed with the M’s. They loved it. And I mean, LOVED IT.
So once the laughter and applause died down, YHC launched into the speech. But as I started, I became keenly aware that I’m a nervous speaker. I like to pace when speaking into a microphone. Alas, I was standing atop an 18"x18" box with nowhere to go. Additionally, I realized that being 2 feet taller than then next tallest PAX gave me just a little anxiety. Everyone was staring at me and I don’t know why, but I wasn’t fully prepared for that mentally. What if my jokes didn’t land? What if it got too loud and people couldn’t hear my freaking amazing jokes? What if the M’s started throwing stuff at me? (I was prepared for the PAX to throw things, because c’mon. But not the M’s.)
And that’s when things started to unravel. I made a joke about CheddarBo (the OG CheddarBo, not the Ted Boyd “I climb water towers and love love love the Hallmark Channel” CheddarBo). It slayed. I then made a joke about the 2ndF Q’s actually doing a half-decent job over the year. It got some chuckles, but the M’s were lost. The third joke missed completely, as it was something even more specific that only the real OG Carpexers would understand. Something that new guys like WKRP and Hello Kitty didn’t get.
I got tight. I could sense that same buzz I saw during Shutty’s speech, and I realized it wasn’t about anticipation for YHC’s speech. Nay, it was the fact that our F3 brothers have about a 47-second attention span. Looking at the sheet(s) of paper in front of me, realizing it had already been 60 seconds and I was only 3 paragraphs into the speech, it quickly became apparent to me that this speech was going to take upwards of 15 minutes if I went word for word.
I made a snap decision to ab lib the rest of the intro and get into the meat of the speech. But this didn’t go well. At this point I’m sweating and I can sense that I’m losing the majority of the crowd. I glance out and see that all the M’s have there eyes glued to me (for good reason - I’m strikingly handsome), but all the PAX are becoming glossy-eyed and, in some cases, angry. That’s when the mumble-chatter started.
If you knew only one thing about F3 Carpex, what would it be? It would be the fact that F3 CarPAX are a chatty bunch. And oftentimes, a disrespectful chatty bunch. Especially disrespectful to a millennial such as myself.
So the first PAX yells something horrible from the 6th row. I glance over nervously and see him get an elbow to the ribs from the M. At least I still have her attention, I tell myself. But then another PAX yells obscenities. He gets an elbow too, but it’s too late. Those two PAX paved the next 43 feet for the PAX behind them. Soon enough the PAX were in a full-throated roar, chastising me and prodding every single one of my many insecurities.
I didn’t handle it well. I dropped my type-written speech entirely, deciding to rely on my quick wit and rugged handsomeness to win the crowd back over. The M’s were ready and willing to listen. The PAX…were not. And I froze. My usual wit and creativity betrayed me completely. It was like they were in the back of the room, also hurling insults my way. I was crushed.
I blacked out soon after. I don’t remember then next 40 seconds, but it featured me tripping over my words, my face completely blushing, sweating dripping into my eyes and me trying not to let the PAX see that I was burning alive, lest I give them more fuel for their verbal flame-throwers.
The next thing I really remember was the relief of stepping down off the box and finally being the same height as everyone else. I wanted to talk to no one, and thankfully, no one wanted to talk to me either. A real blessing.
The same PAX who handed me a beer at the beginning of the night was waiting for me in the back of the room with another full pint. He’d seen the inevitable coming and took it upon himself to offer a fig leaf. I accepted it gladly, and I will be forever grateful. PAX - you know who you are.
The only redeeming grace of that horrific experience was all the sympathy garnered from the M’s. I’m not kidding when I say this - no less than 10 M’s approached me afterward and expressed two things, a lie and a truth. The Lie: “Oh don’t listen to them, you did great!”. The Truth: “I wish they would have let you finish. They were so mean to you.”
Dear M’s, if you only knew the half of it.
But, the kindness showed by the M’s kept me out of a full meltdown. I had become a sympathetic figure to them and they were more than happy to do what they could to prop me back up after I’d fallen so hard. I just gotta say, you PAX definitely married up. Typically when you hear someone say that a guy “married up”, they are speaking in terms of exterior beauty. But in this case, I’m speaking of both exterior and interior beauty. The M’s of CarPAX are our silver linings, and we should be ever grateful for them.
Anywho, I drank seven more beers and headed home. I fartsacked the next six weeks, just praying everyone would forget. Instead, it’s been 12 months of never-ending hate.
You’re the worst.
-Callahan