Chapter 15 Party Planning and Impossible Deadlines
Party Planning and Impossible Deadlines
Alyssa
Three days had passed since Alyssa found Evelyn stressed out in her office, having just been informed by Dan the Douche that she had to organise the traditional Crawford’s HQ Christmas Party.
The task had seemed impossible then: plan a corporate event for all of Crawford’s staff in under two weeks.
Alyssa had offered to help, thinking it would be a quick afternoon project.
She’d been spectacularly wrong.
Planning a corporate Christmas party was, Alyssa discovered, approximately 7,000 times more complicated than managing a sanctuary full of dogs with varying digestive issues and personality disorders.
“So,” she said, spreading a massive spreadsheet across Evelyn’s conference table, “we need to categorise your employees like we do our rescue dogs.”
Evelyn looked simultaneously horrified and intrigued. “Excuse me?”
“Different personalities require different party strategies,” Alyssa explained, pulling out color-coded Post-it notes. “Marketing types need disco. Accounting needs structured fun. IT needs…well, basically a LAN party with festive hats.”
Since the beginning of the partnership with Crawford’s, Alyssa had gotten to know the various departments within the company pretty well.
She’d learned that Tom from graphic design was meticulous and creative, that Polly in accounting had a dry sense of humour that could cut glass, and that the marketing team thrived on energy and spectacle.
Each department had its own rhythm, its own culture, its own needs. Understanding that was half the battle.
Bug, who had been supervising from his designated conference room chair, gave a soft “woof” of apparent agreement.
“Did the dog just validate your organisational strategy?” Evelyn asked.
“Bug is an excellent consultant,” Alyssa said seriously. “His instincts are legendary at Four Paws.”
The next two hours were a masterclass in corporate event engineering. Alyssa mapped out theoretical seating arrangements depending on the venue they would finally settle on, potential dietary requirements, and probable drama zones with the precision of a military strategist.
The venue search had become their biggest challenge.
With Christmas less than two weeks away, most spaces were already booked solid.
Every call Alyssa made was met with the same response: “Sorry, we’re fully committed through the new year.
” They’d narrowed it down to a handful of possibilities, but nothing felt quite right yet.
Still, Alyssa refused to let logistics derail the planning.
They could adapt the seating, the flow, the entire layout once they had a space locked down.
“You’ve colour-coded potential romantic tension,” Evelyn observed with an arched brow, pointing at a section marked in bright yellow.
“Workplace dynamics are complex,” Alyssa replied. “Much like dog pack hierarchies.”
Bug thumped his tail in agreement.
By midday, they’d transformed Evelyn’s pristine conference room into a war room. Sticky notes covered every surface, each colour representing a different department, potential challenge, or critical consideration.
“This feels like a tactical operation,” Evelyn said, looking slightly overwhelmed.
“Welcome to event management,” Alyssa grinned. “It’s basically herding cats. Or in our case, dogs.”
The catering section was particularly complex. Alyssa had created an intricate matrix that considered dietary restrictions, potential allergies, and what she called “hangry prevention strategies.”
“You’ve got a column here that says ‘Potential Meltdown Risk, ’” Evelyn noted, pointing to a bright red section.
“Some people get very serious about their Christmas pudding,” Alyssa explained. “It’s like watching dogs protect their favourite chew toy.”
Bug lifted his head and gave a pointed look that suggested he took toy protection very seriously.
“How did you become so good at this?” Evelyn asked, genuinely curious.
Alyssa shrugged. “Running a sanctuary means being part event planner, part therapist, part detective. You learn to anticipate problems before they happen.”
They broke for lunch—pizza again, because apparently it had become their planning fuel. Bug sprawled across the floor between them, his head resting on Alyssa’s foot, occasionally lifting his eyes toward the pizza box with shameless hope.
“He’s manipulating me for pizza,” Evelyn said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling.
“Of course he is,” Alyssa agreed, “but he’s very charming about it.”
The afternoon brought more detailed planning. “What’s this section?” Evelyn pointed to a detailed flowchart.
“Potential drama mitigation,” Alyssa explained. “Like how we prepare dogs for new environments. Slow introduction, positive reinforcement, clear boundaries.”
Evelyn snorted, which made Alyssa feel a hundred feet tall. She loved making Evelyn laugh.
By late afternoon, they’d developed a plan that was part corporate strategy, part psychological intervention, and part festive celebration.
“I can’t believe we’ve managed this,” Evelyn said, looking at the meticulously organised documents.
“Teamwork,” Alyssa said, offering a high-five. Bug immediately shoved his head between their hands, demanding inclusion.
“And canine supervision,” Evelyn added, scratching Bug behind the ears.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the conference room, Alyssa felt something shift. This wasn’t just about organising an event anymore. This was about helping Evelyn rediscover something she’d lost: the joy of bringing people together.
“We should test some of the games,” Alyssa suggested. “Make sure they’re actually fun and not just team-building torture.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “You want to practice party games? Now?”
“Why not?” Alyssa said. “Bug can be our impartial judge.”
Bug wagged his tail, clearly delighted to be assigned such an important role.
And just like that, the serious planning dissolved into laughter, sticky notes, and increasingly ridiculous game scenarios, with Bug as their most discerning critic.
The party was going to be perfect. Or at least, perfectly chaotic.
The next few days became a blur of last-minute problem-solving meetings and increasingly elaborate spreadsheets. Alyssa found herself spending more time at Crawford’s than she’d initially planned, which was definitely not something she was complaining about.
“I’m pretty sure this is not what I meant by ‘help with the party, ’” Evelyn said, watching Alyssa rearrange the entire staff kitchen to create what she called a “festive flow zone.”
“Trust the process,” Alyssa replied, carefully positioning a set of reindeer-shaped mugs. “Spatial arrangement matters more than you’d think.”
Bug watched from his perch on a nearby chair, looking like he’d be taking notes if dogs had opposable thumbs.
“That sounds made up,” Evelyn said.
“Maybe,” Alyssa grinned. “But it sounds convincing, doesn’t it?”
The marketing department had been particularly enthusiastic. Tom from graphic design had created no fewer than seventeen potential party banners, each more elaborate than the last. The current favourite featured Bug wearing a Santa hat, which the dog himself seemed to find acceptable.
“I’m not sure this is professional,” Evelyn said, looking at the design.
“It’s exactly what your employees want,” Alyssa countered. “Trust me. I understand pack dynamics.”
Lil had been sending increasingly pointed texts, mostly variations of “Are you actually working or just flirting?”, which Alyssa studiously ignored. The event was becoming a project of epic proportions, and she was determined to make it perfect.
“This is more intense than I expected,” Evelyn said one evening, surrounded by sample Christmas decorations and sticky notes.
“This is how we prepare for puppy adoptions,” Alyssa replied. “Except with fewer worksheets and more sanitiser.”
As the days passed, the excitement became palpable. The Crawford’s office transformed, with employees not-so-subtly asking Alyssa about details. Bug had become something of a mascot, with staff members stopping by to get his “approval” on various elements.
“I think he’s enjoying the power,” Evelyn observed.
“Total middle management energy,” Alyssa agreed.
The event was becoming more than just a celebration. It was becoming a moment of reconnection for a company that had been struggling with leadership transition, with grief, with the challenges of the past year.
And somehow, in the middle of all the planning, Alyssa was creating something else. A connection. A possibility. Something that felt like it could be more than just a work project.
But for now, there were plans to finalise, and a very opinionated dog to consult.
The venue selection turned into an unexpected adventure—and a nail-biting one at that.
They were now less than a week out from the party and still didn’t have a confirmed location.
With most spaces booked solid months in advance, Evelyn had suggested using the company’s main conference hall as a last resort—practical, convenient, and utterly soulless.
“Absolutely not,” Alyssa said, crossing her arms. “That room has all the festive energy of a tax audit.”
“It’s functional,” Evelyn protested. “And it’s available! Alyssa, we’re running out of time. The party is in six days.”
“So is a filing cabinet, but you don’t throw a party in one.”
Bug, who had accompanied them on the conference hall tour—their Hail Mary—sat down in the middle of the room and refused to move. His message was clear: this space was unacceptable.
“Even the dog hates it,” Alyssa pointed out.
“The dog is biased,” Evelyn replied, but she was already pulling out her phone to research alternatives. “Though I’m starting to think he has better taste than both of us.”