I’ll just sit this one pout
Having a job is nice. Having to attend job-related social functions is another thing entirely.
Case in point: Our annual/bi-annual/monthly/per-weekly staff picnic.
The place: An overcast-encased beachfront amphitheater (uh oh…).
The catch: This time, there was a “theme”.
The question most frequently overheard: “Wh-where’s the alcohol?”
Yes, the laid out plan and purpose of the staff picnic this go round was to “build trust”. Via trust-building exercises. Taught to us by seasoned professionals in the field, no less. By which I mean those ASB-bred types unduly possessed of go-getter inclinations and practiced in the art of falling backwards into the hopefully-waiting arms of another, leading around lines of people with their eyes closed Rain Man-style, and forming groups of people into one big, amoeba-like circle on command. This was all very frequently parodied in sitcoms of the ‘70s and early ‘80s, but I found it was still alive and well in today’s workplace.
The whole three-ring event came off something like an episode of Demented Adult Romper Room, if you ask me. A few of us, being of the less “hands-on” school of co-worker bonding (more of the let’s get our “drinks on” variety), opted out of the day’s festivities, and held court in the peanut gallery, laughing with ersatz abandon, petulantly lambasting the weather whenever it dared show itself, and plotting escape. It wasn’t like we were trying to be self-righteously anti-social; we simply agreed that trust-building could only truly occur on the playing field itself, not through little games on the playground. And without risk to bodily injury caused while running around on a wet, muddy lawn, to boot.
It was, as always, mucho fun chilling with my co-workers outside of the office, but it did put me a day behind on work during one of my busiest times of the year. It also provided me with enough sun exposure to take me on through the tail end of 2006. I looked like the Invisible Man trying to make his way in public, all armored up in my windbreaker, sunglasses, and lowered baseball cap with nary a speck of skin showing. And STILL managed to get a low-level sunburn on my face. I don’t know why I thought just the one coating of Coppertone in the morning would suffice for the whole day. As SPF!
God, can you imagine if my bitch ass had been born in Siberia or the Sahara? I believe the state of venomous misery fortified throughout the years into my soul and state of mind would have made me the perfect vessel for the coming of the anti-Christ. Someone in the universe sure knew what the hell they were doing in making sure mama bore me in sunny, southern California. With its Family Fun Center, department-store weather, it really is the most perfect place all year round…Well, weather-wise, at least.
