'Tis the season to spear cubes of wet potato salad from a paper plate while extracting small talk about anything other than work. Sounds simple and fun?

Wrong! Nothing this time of year is simple and fun! An office holiday potluck is an employee Rorschach test, a team sport that lays bare its star players, benchwarmers and all levels in between. You think you're just flopping a clamshell of Publix chocolate chip cookies on the table and getting away with it? We see right through you.

MAIN PROTEIN

You are the unsung office hero who plans trivia night, organizes the Lumberjack Pancake Social and always wins the Halloween decorating contest. You're awake with a positive attitude the night before the potluck, crushing your own dry rub and slow-roasting two large briskets. You call your colleagues "family," an affectation you know has gone out of political fashion, but you can't help it. When you retire, the department gifts you an embroidered apron that says, "Yes, Chef."

SODA 2-LITERS

You're eager to help, but you're busy and practical. You're trying to get a promotion and are neck and neck with (redacted), who is simply not qualified. You have three kids on rotating sports schedules, and now one wants to learn trumpet. You adopted a special-needs dog, a commitment you sometimes regret but would never admit out loud. You go to virtual therapy on Zoom every two weeks and are working to identify your attachment style.

FRUITCAKE

You're either a sadomasochist or you believe you possess the world's only good recipe. Or both.

CHIPS

You have mentally checked out of potlucks. In fact, of everything. You're disillusioned by the office industrial complex and are starting to suspect the system benefits by keeping you down. Why are you paying for these chips, anyway? How have you been fooled into spending money to go to work? You've been reading a lot about Sweden's limited constitutional monarchy and parliamentary system. Your shoulder hurts. You should get it checked, but your deductible is too high. Chips are fine, right? It doesn't matter.

PACKET OF NAPKINS

Blink twice if you are OK.

CROCK-POT MEATBALLS

Your love language is acts of service. Yes, you had to bring three grocery bags and an industrial Crock-Pot up the elevator on a rolling cart, a cart you retrieved from the stockroom and sprayed down with Lysol because it was so crusted in cobwebs. And, yes, now you have a parking ticket! For illegally parking to unload the equipment and meatballs! You feel full inside.

ELABORATE, CONFUSING SIDE DISH

You spend too much time on Food Network and are hard-launching a cooking TikTok. You like your job, but does it feed your soul? You are learning restraint after your family told you they weren't hungry three nights in a row. Party guests try your farro with cranberries and pine nuts and pesto and raw kale and jalapenos and balsamic mustard glaze and say, "So ... what's in this?" You check your TikTok; one new follower. You smile.

FAMILY RECIPE

You have a big heart but wonder if people know that. Are you intimidating? You don't mean to be. You've always felt a little misunderstood, if you're being honest. You're not quiet because you're rude; you're quiet because it takes time to open up around new people. You miss your mom, so you made her cheesecake balls. You are reading "The Four Agreements" in the quiet hours of the morning.

FAST FOOD

You don't have time for this, but you are desperate to be liked. You drive through McDonald's and order 40 nuggets. Woo! Party! You're a Gemini sun, Cancer moon, Aries rising; you spend four hours a day wondering if someone is mad at you. At the last minute, you decide the vegans will be offended by the nugs. You pull into the local plant-based bakery and buy 20 granola ball bites with dates and cashew butter. You have now spent $124 and are late to the party.

NOTHING/DOES NOT EAT

You forgot it was holiday potluck day. You feel so guilty about not contributing that you invent a fake business appointment. You eat a dry peanut butter sandwich alone in your car.

NOTHING/EATS ALL

You forgot it was holiday potluck day. You don't feel bad about it. You go back for seconds and thirds, eating with reckless abandon. You take the last chicken wing and wipe your plate clean with the final Hawaiian roll, then head back to your laptop with greasy fingers. Everyone watches you in awe, wishing to know such peace of the season.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: Obi - @pixel8propix at Unsplash