Episode 25: The Office After Christmas Chaos
January 2, 2026
It was a quiet day in the workplace, just a few days after Christmas, when suddenly, an eerie disturbance broke the silence. The Boss whispers urgently as his torch beam crosses something moving — a potential intruder or, more likely, a rat.
“Oh, nothing. Probably just a rat,” the PFY nonchalantly says.
The Boss gasps, “A RAT!”
“Yeah, the building’s full of them,” the PFY replies. “This was once an ex-government office, full of voids in the floor and wall slabs designed for future services. Now, those voids are rat passages, and they only come out in the dark.”
“Let’s turn on the lights,” the Boss shudders, and I carefully make my way to the switchboard.
Once illuminated, the Boss surveys the chaotic wreckage of our department. “What a bloody shambles!”
“I admit, mistakes were made,” I confess.
Curious about our current state, the Boss tries to lift a filing cabinet, only to find it toppled over with half-eaten lunch underneath. He questions how it got so bad.
“Well, apparently someone mentioned in passing that we had a lot of alcohol here,” I explain, eyeing him pointedly. “Longer-serving staff interpreted that as us resurrecting our ‘last-day party,’ which used to happen years ago when the IT budgets were generous.”
“What last-day party?” the Boss asks with a puzzled look.
“It was a tradition where, at the end of a project or before leaving, staff would have a little gathering to clear out leftover booze from generous vendors who gave us small, expensive, bottle-shaped presents. We’d end up swimming in liquor.”
“Though we do have lots of alcohol,” the Boss points out, “for almost as long as I’ve been here. Just not the drinking kind.”
“Back in the tape drive era, we used medical-grade isopropyl to clean tape heads—cost about ten quid a gallon. Someone ordered two drums because a penny-pincher saw that 44 gallons of regular grade was only a hundred quid. We still have about 87 gallons left,” the PFY explains.
“However, as I said, none of it is for drinking,” I add.
The situation escalates when a group of employees, who haven’t received a Christmas bonus in years, gather outside our office, believing there’s a party. Naturally, this leads to a dilemma.
“Something has to be done—unless you want that angry mob to turn nasty,” I warn.
“...with no Christmas bonus,” PFY adds.
“Exactly,” I continue. “Most of the alcohol was supplied internally, from the boardroom chiller, either by grateful vendors or, more likely, stolen.”
“The boardroom chiller,” the Boss repeats uneasily.
“It’s either them or us,” I state plainly.
“So, we’ve wrecked our office and stolen all the Board’s booze?” the Boss gasps.
“And their snacks,” PFY clarifies helpfully.
“The snacks too?!” the Boss exclaims.
“Better to have a hangry mob than an angry one,” PFY points out.
“They’ll notice it’s missing!” the Boss panics.
“No worries,” I advise. “We’ll say the chiller failed over the break, and we had to dump everything for health and safety. To make it believable, we’ll invoice them for a skip bin, some carpet cleaning, room deodorant, and dehumidification—all items we’ll use here.”
“And order a new chiller,” PFY suggests.
The Boss protests, “You’re going to steal their chiller too?!”
“Donating it to Security, of course. It is Christmas,” I reply.
The Boss looks doubtful. “They’ll never believe it.”
“Trust me, it’ll work,” I say confidently. “Just mention a pair of underpants found behind a cupboard, and everything will be swept under the carpet—literally and figuratively.”
Unsure, the Boss calls the Director to explain. Unbeknownst to him, the Director was the one who originally suggested the chiller theft, after a few vendor-supplied drinks at early morning meetings.
“She doesn’t think it’s believable; she said booze wouldn’t be undrinkable after a chiller failure. Also, she mentioned you emptied the whiskey and brandy cabinets.”
“Oh, right,” I admit, turning to PFY. “Plan B is now in motion.”
“What’s Plan B?” PFY asks.
“Oh, never mind. Help me stand this filing cabinet.”
Someone has been “under,” as PFY notes—in other words, the rats have been busy. We manage to clear a lot of clutter and get the office back to its usual state, but the fire alarm blares suddenly.
“What’s that?” the Boss asks in alarm.
“I think that’s our alcohol supply dropping from 87 to 44 gallons...” I reply grimly.
Previous episodes of The BOFH on The Register:
Note: This story blends dark humor, workplace chaos, and the classic BOFH misadventures—always with a touch of satire and technical wit.