Notes From My Department's Mid-Year, Day-Long, Suckfest Of A Meeting
We tour the newspaper plant where the Ventura County Star is manufactured. It's a standard, fairly mundane tour until Christian Bale and Bill Pullman jump out from behind the presses and start singing. Then it just gets awkward.
There's such a huge disconnect between the way management perceives us to be (happy) and the way we actually are (suicidal).
We eat lunch at some bad barbecue place that refers to brisket as "tri-tip" and offers me Mr. Pibb instead of Dr Pepper. Stupid bland-food state.
After lunch, my department is assembled for what many of assume will be bonding and/or sharing exercises. I form a murder-suicide pact with a nearby coworker.
We are split into pairs and told to list our accomplishments to our partner for 3 minutes. Our partners are supposed to listen and make sure we say positive things about ourselves. I use the opportunity to go to the bathroom.
My department head gives a brief speech about how happy she is that we all have such a good time at work and with each other. She gets choked up several times. I wonder if it's possible to make myself pass out just by willing my brain to shut down.
Another group activity: we are split into teams and given a hypothetical situation in which our group has inherited 10,000 washing machines. We are assigned to create a print ad or 30-second commercial to sell the washing machines. I am appointed the spokesman for my group, maybe because I'm tallest. I fail miserably at every attempt to hide my disdain for the entire sad display.
How I looked all day:
How I felt all day:
