The end-of-year office party. Human Resources

The end-of-year party was going exactly as planned.
Too much spritz, questionable music, male colleagues suddenly convinced that a tighter shirt equates to charisma. I smiled, nodded, mentally recorded who drank too much, who flirted badly, who would pretend not to remember tomorrow.

I shrugged and said to myself, "Come on, relax, having fun isn't prohibited by the company code yet," and I started bustling about to finish setting up the buffet table.

At a certain point, I started to notice something, or rather, the lack of something: usually the buffet is mobbed by swarms of colleagues like swarms of locusts.

Not today.
There's hesitation in the air.
Shyness.

Very few people are dancing.
Stiff hip movements.
Glasses held low.
No invasion of others' personal space, the number one complaint from female colleagues the day after any company event.

Looking up for a moment from what I was doing, I noticed something that left me stunned: Eugenio from sales, an asshole, had a very obvious bulge on the front of his pants.
I immediately thought, there's the usual idiot who's stuck a banana in his underwear to act the clown, but no, he was in front of the head of the technical department.
Something escapes me.

I approached, keeping my eyes fixed on this prank, thinking it was too early for such drunken pranks; I could have let him pass at the end of the night, but not now.
It was too early.
It was too much.
It was...
It wasn't...

It wasn't a banana.

My pace slowed.
I stopped.
I didn't look away, and now I was close enough to notice the details.
The tension of the fabric, the outlines and shadows that were being created, I could have sworn I even glimpsed some veins.
The shadow; the shadow cast was definitely noticeable.

I bit my lip.

Having done it because of that asshole salesman created an internal conflict in me, and I quickly remembered that I'm still HR.
I calmly walked back toward the two of them.

For the first time, I looked away from that huge problem and up at his face.
Unexpectedly tense.
Absent.
His usual obnoxious grimace missing.

"Everything okay?" I asked, interjecting my standard HR smile, the one you can't argue with.

Eugenio nodded quickly.
The other said, "Great."
Silence.
Stares at nothing and more silence.

The two began a robotic conversation about unfinished business.
I stood there, convinced that sooner or later I would join the conversation and confront Eugenio with the problem.
I tried to position myself so as to block the rest of the room's view of that abomination when I noticed that the head of the technical department also had something swimming between his legs.

Not so much.
It must have been a small fish.
I turned away from them so as not to reveal my slight twitching, which I don't think they would have had any opportunity to notice, when I realized the problem wasn't isolated.

I quickly scanned the room and realized the problem was widespread.
I don't understand how all this could be happening.
Almost all the men are prey to the same desperate attempts at dissimulation.
It's noticeable. I
notice commonalities.
And, to my great professional annoyance, the differences.

I excuse myself with a quick gesture that is still ignored.

I return to the buffet and for the first time notice the small groups of colleagues.
The colleagues, obviously, had figured it all out before me.

"Did you see?"
"Yes."
“Tell me you see it too.”
“Honey, if it were more obvious, they should put up a sign.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone.”
“Oh my God, some more than others.”

Low chuckles. Comments whispered with surgical precision.

Investigative voices:
“What the heck is going on?”
“It looks like a synchronized sport… Olympic.”
“An impromptu flashmob.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
“You know No Nut November? Group withdrawal? It could be that.”
“And you… how do you know these things?”
“Oh, are you keeping the hubby at bay?”
“Haha…”
“Group withdrawal? It’s unlikely they all agreed on this.”
“No, it’s an Internet thing…”
“No, someone must have put Viagra in the drinks.”
“It can’t be a coincidence.”

Others are less concerned about the reason.
Simply curious.
“Oh my God, have you seen Eugenio? He’s… huge.”
“Who hasn’t seen him?”
"Look at the way he moves his hand in his pocket..."
"That's not enough, you'd need two hands to cover it."
"So his assholeness is proportional to..."
I thought so too.

Surely these same commenters made some snide joke about my rushing toward the most egregious case.
The distinct feeling that, in a single move, I'd gone from enforcer of the rules to potential coffee break topic.

Roberta from the graphics department pretended to take a photo of the buffet. The angle was… creative.
I pretended not to see.
If she spreads the photo online, I'm done for.
One emergency at a time.
The most pressing problem to contain was of much greater proportions.

When I saw several colleagues repeatedly heading toward the bathroom corridor with the air of those losing an internal battle, I realized the evening had crossed a threshold.

No one was laughing openly anymore.
Only glances.
Evaluations.
And that heavy silence that, in a company, always precedes a difficult meeting.

Serena emerged from the bathroom, her voice loud enough to be heard:
"Guys, don't forget to wash your hands."
She then walked toward the room, inspecting the colleagues in line one by one.
She didn't quicken her pace.
She didn't say anything else.
She just looked.

No one met her eyes.
No one dared raise their chin.
When she passed, the line moved half a step forward, in silence.

The party broke up early. No announcements were made. No formal greetings. Just people grabbing coats with suspicious haste.

The room was emptying, and a few decidedly tipsy colleagues joined me to say goodbye, giggling and slightly swaying.
"HR, I have to say... great job tonight!" one said, winking at me.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, I don't know how you manage to stay so calm with all that... chaos."
"The spectacle of your colleagues... firmly managed... contained."
"I swear, if I were in your place, I would have burst out laughing in many people's faces."
"Ah, I see..." I nodded, trying to sound professional.

Giulia and Serena, drinks in hand, approached to say goodbye and almost bumped into me.
They were decidedly drunk.
"Graziella... really, what a night," Giulia said, giggling. "The boys... seem to have lost every shred of dignity."
"Yes," Serena added with a smirk, "one skit after another... I didn't know where to look."
"Poor things."
I shrugged slightly. "Girls, calm down... we're still talking about professionals."
"Professionals?" Giulia laughed. "They looked more like a group of schoolchildren in their first year..."
I glared at her: she was overstepping the line.
"Weapons..." Giulia finished, getting the hint.

Serena glanced toward the exit. "And Eugenio... wow, that's quite a turn of events."
Then she looked at me, as if searching for sincerity in the depths of someone's eyes. "Did you know?"
“Honestly… no,” I admitted. “I was as surprised as you.”
Serena chuckled, shaking her head: “I don’t think so, I was completely amazed. Excellent veining…”
Giulia whistled softly: “Mmm… such attention to detail.”
I admitted, with a mischievous smile: “Well… I had glimpsed them too, an artifact.”
Serena gave me a surprised, then conspiratorial look.

“A truly strong spritz, though,” Giulia said, mischievously.
“Really… it made a disastrous evening a little lighter,” Serena added.

The two of them staggered out.
Everyone left.
I stayed.
Because HR always stays.

Tidying up. Empty glasses. Sticky tables. And then, almost against my better judgment, curiosity.

The men’s room.

I opened the door and stopped.

Not out of theatrical shock.
Out of obvious evidence.

Paper everywhere, in frankly excessive quantities.
Sinks used as if they'd been the victims of a plumbing emergency.
Fogged mirrors, hand marks, surfaces half-cleaned and hastily.
Smells, perfumes, deodorants.
The floor was vaguely sticky.

A jacket forgotten on the radiator.
A pair of underwear abandoned in a corner next to a toilet.

I was horrified.

There was no need to imagine too much.
The picture was clear.
A war had been fought.
Numerous battles, one alongside the other.
Fought quietly.

The image of my colleagues locked in the bathrooms, all beating each other up like kids, flashed quickly through my mind.
A fraction of a second.
It must have been humiliating.
Defeated.

Not even the bathroom could be called a winner.

I immediately let go of the doorknob.
I take a step back as the door slowly closes, removing that terrible battlefield from my sight.
I'd already seen too much detail.

A difficult Monday awaits.
I need to sleep.