Christmas Dinners in Spanish Politics

The People's Party (PP) holds more Christmas dinners than the entire Community of Madrid. Sumar is celebrating Christmas in Mexico this year. As is known, seafood is guaranteed, and as the genius Mingote once said. And speaking of prawns, the unions are also holding their banquets these days. The PP of Boadilla, the PP of Navalcarnero, the PP of Alcorcón, the PP of San Sebastián de los Reyes… And so on, affiliates and sympathists dine for free while listening to the proclamations they have been hearing morning, noon, and night since Feijóo won (but lost) the elections. He is nicer than he seems, some say; what fun, others comment. They haven't realized that it is December and that taking small steps nowhere is not quite working out. Let's hope that being freed from union duties doesn't become a job and the balloon pops. And as is known, at Christmas, one must grant all wishes to the poor hearts that demand love, attention, and closeness. This past had a ritual, a protocol, forms that have been erased to make way for a new, sweeping concept: the party. Then one remembers Vargas Llosa's novel 'Pantaleon and the Visitadoras,' as some convict has made it clear that there is no party to celebrate without prostitutes. And so it goes until next year, for which we are in December. I, if you were from Vox and received an invitation to the Christmas banquet, I would play dead, as in the joke where a woman agrees with her husband and doesn't know how to react. One would sit next to the person who controlled your future, ask for the same as him/her, and spend the evening trying not to put one's foot in it, which was a real effort, almost like an entrance exam to the longed-for status. The opposition continues to set the pace for Holy Week. An attempt to be laid-back when it's stiffer than a doormat, accompanied by the complacent laughter of all attendees. The same thing happens with the PP. Now, what's in vogue in this city are big events, night celebrations, parties, live music, easy pickings, lack of restraint. We no longer celebrate Christmas company dinners, those where you would sit next to the purchasing manager and he would call you by your name for the first time. Workers risk being fired because they think they are friends when in reality they are the opposite, and after one, two, or three drinks, the employee thinks the world is at their feet when in reality it is more on their shoulders than ever. One of the main rules was not to drink too much, but the plan worked in your favor because the table would get up after the pacharán or white orujo and everyone would go their own way. They have been waiting for seven years for a right-wing government to come to power so they can go out and protest a little. Things get worse when the boss takes the microphone and demonstrates the reason why he is the boss, of course. They still don't know how to peel prawns. Pepe Álvarez and Co. Enjoy the dinner. But a little. Thank goodness someone apologizes, even if for something that never happened. It is said that in Soto del Real they are receiving a flood of requests for Ferraz to hold a banquet in the module where the general secretaries of organization live. Let them ask Don Paco Salazar, alias 'the fly of Ferraz'. Vox is also celebrating its Christmas party. It's like an UFC fight, where the only important thing is to kill the opponent with blows. But one doesn't only find chunda-chunda and an open bar. It is an exercise in fiction that ends badly because the companies—the bigger, the worse—always have one or two human resources mandos who spend the night noting the future promotions or firings of a staff that thinks that on that night anything goes. But don't you worry, voters, we are talking about the most feminist party in history. Get the speakers ready because anything goes there. The same thing happens to them as happened to my mother every time she watched a football match: she always celebrated the opposing team's goal.