Holiday Parties

The holiday parties that are held at the club during the day are one of my most favorite times at the Stress Factory. The parties usually range from 40 to 150 people but the buzz in the room compares to big shows. The customers come to their company party ready to let loose, ready to laugh and the atmosphere is electric. Once they settle into their seats, the comedian takes to the stage. The room is dark and only lit by the spotlight and Christmas tree in the corner. I usually stand to side to monitor the show and the service and as I watch, I feel myself being pulled in by their holiday cheer. Their faces shine in the light that leads to the stage as they laugh along to the jokes, nodding to one another. The comic performing will bend down, talk to someone in their group, igniting more laughter. They more they laugh, the more I feel like I’m getting ready for Christmas.

A few years ago, my husband Vinnie performed at one of these Christmas parties. Except it wasn’t called a Christmas party. After several long drawn out meetings with the organizers from the company it was determined that it would be billed a holiday party. The comic couldn’t say Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah or Happy Kwanzaa. I then received another call saying someone in HR felt Happy Holiday’s might be offensive to atheists (after this call, I began to rethink my decision to ask Vin to perform—anyone who knows Vinnie, knows these will be the first things he’d want to say). The Stress Factory should call the show an ‘End of the Year Celebration’ (party had also been removed as it might have the connotation of alcohol and they didn’t want to offend those who didn’t drink).

By the morning of the party, I was on edge. I had just received a three page fax from the company stating all of the phrases and words the comedian and/or staff could not say. Any combination of Merry and another word was forbidden as were a whole host of topics that were in Vinnie’s act (death, divorce, politics and anything that possibly be deemed controversial). An hour before the show, I went over again with the staff what they could and couldn’t say. It was basically whittled down to london broil, mashed potatoes, penne pasta in a vodka tomato cream sauce—what they were serving—and absolutely no mention of alcohol. I approached Vin next. He was sitting at the bar, reading a newspaper. I handed him the list, he read it over and nodded and then went back to his newspaper.

“Are you okay with this?” I asked. His demeanor made me twitchy. What was he thinking?

“Sure,” he said, his eyes focused on the paper.

“You promise?”

He looked up and smiled. “Got it.

As the employees of the company came in and took their seats, the room was quiet. The usual buzz of excitement was absent. After a few more reassurances to the organizers that we had indeed received the fax, we began the show.

Vinnie walked up onto the stage. He took the mic out of the stand and stood staring out at the crowd. He smiled and said, “Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Divali, Happy Ramadan and if you don’t celebrate anything enjoy December.”

For a brief moment, the room was silent. My heart was racing. I thought, okay..the company is going to fire us.

Unaffected, Vinnie said, “Come on people” and pointed to the Stress Factory sign that hangs above the stage. “This is a comedy club.”

And just like that, he had captured them. For the rest the show the company laughed and smiled and nodded along and Vinnie did is whole act (the whole time I kept thinking only Vinnie could do this). At the end, the organizers came up, tears in their eyes, telling me it was their best party ever. I wanted to say, “What about the fax and all of things Vinnie wasn’t suppose to say?” But instead I thanked them, handed them their gifts bags for having their party at the club and let the magic that Vinnie created hang in the air.