Offsites are off limits
Confessions from a basement prisoner with limbs
This post isn’t about anything. If you’re looking for lessons, I can give those too. But this isn’t it. This is shooting practice. I’m still finding a groove: how much should I write? What should I write about? All questions I don’t have answers to. But there’s something to writing not as the means to an end but as a stroll through the woods. Is it valuable? Well that depends on “to whom?” and “how much?”
“We gotta bring back the pandemic!”
We stood in a circle in the sand on a surprisingly sunny afternoon at Muir Beach. We were intimate strangers shedding layers while meeting for the first time. Well, we’d met, but this was meant to be different. An attempt to get thirty people to come in as strangers and leave as docile co-workers.
The hope, as The Corporate Manual indicates, is that through non-work experiences the workers are able to perform better at work. Like a treat to a hamster after a long jog at the wheel to remind it that it’s all going to work out. So we flew across the country for a two-day offsite. Funny how lately the concept of a “site” seems to be entirely metaphoric as our offsite took place partly on site. But that day, we were entirely outside.
We arrived in batches. The car-owners volunteered to drive the car-less in groups of four. The draft was done in private over a spreadsheet but it was nevertheless as exposing as an 8th grade game draft.
My batch arrived after the first few of them were already there. Hovering around a cheese board and a yet-to-be-fired bonfire, they welcomed us with open arms. They exclaimed like an Italian uncle welcoming his family as he notices them arrive fashionably late at the restaurant. We one-hand hugged, back patted, fist bumped, nodded, and winked hello at each other. Then we ran out of niceties and had to dig in.
“Who are you?” I wondered.
But of course, not everyone is ready to answer that question. I think the answer to that question is more often revealed than spoken. My weapon of choice tends to be irreverence. It’s disarming, alluring. It helps me simulate what it’d feel like to be alive.
So we ask what we do outside of work in a hope that it tells us more than a job title.
They spouted hobbies; cycling, woodworking, sewing.
“Wow, how do you have the time for all of that?” asked a parent.
“I got really into it during the pandemic” said a child.
“Me too! That was the best part of the pandemic. So much time to learn new hobbies!” said a co-worker.
“We gotta bring back the pandemic!” said an irreverent fool.
The rest of the crew laughed awkwardly and changed the subject.
We had a great time. By the end of the two days, we broke through the walls of ice and found commonalities. We toasted, we cheered, we drank. The Manual makes some interesting points.
A couple days later, I woke up to a sobering slack message:
FYI everyone @here - I just tested positive for Covid. You should test before coming into the office today and maybe stay away regardless.
Familiar Pantomimes
I honestly believe that, if I were to be in an airplane accident, I’d be one of the few that survives. I don’t know why. It’s not because I’m uniquely qualified with survival skills. I don’t know how to make a fire or cook anything other that popcorn, which —to be fair— I’m a michelin-star expert at. I’ve stopped listening to the flight’s safety instructions years ago and I honestly couldn’t tell you what to do if it happened. I imagine we’d somehow know it in the moment and remember enough movies to intuit when to do the thing. Some part of me wishes it’d happen so I could have a fun story to tell. Like that one time I got stuck in an elevator for 4 hours and had to jump between floors to my safety but, you know, more cinematic. Imagine the Substack!
That being said, upon reading the message I was sure of my immunity. It’s been two and a half years since the world ended and I’m still hoping it hasn’t. Begrudgingly, I grabbed a test before heading into the office and pretend-sighed after the negative result.
The offsite was sandwiched between two family visits. My partner and I started the trip by visiting her family, gleefully celebrating the arrival of a new nephew. We planned to end it by hosting my parents for a few days to check out her new baby bump. In the middle, I had a light work week
We flew back and settled into our home. It’s always amazed me how an entirely inhospitable and hostile environment like New York City can so quickly feel like home. My dad once told me that a man can find happiness even if imprisoned and missing their limbs. New York, man.
The next morning, and the day of the motivational storyteller’s arrival, I woke up feeling unwell. By muscle memory, I pull out another test and do the all-too-familiar pantomime:
find the package — where do we keep them again?
fumble through the different pieces
have a slight panic attack that I forgot the procedure just to immediately remember it
stick the swab in my nostril until i’m uncomfortable, then go a bit further and count to five while rotating it clockwise
encore performance on nostril #2
soak the swab in the liquid and place three drops
wait
A positive COVID test. A pregnant partner. Two unreachable parents mid-flight to spend the weekend with all of us.
We tried our best relay race between quaran-tims and quaran-tinas. The partner is still testing negative, so it seems to be working! The parents are now gone after spending the weekend masked up and immune. I’m still locked in the basement barely lucid via Tylenol.
I should’ve probably waited until I had an ending to this story to start writing this post but I warned you. So what’s my point, then? Avoid offsites and spin the wheel.
😬😬😬 Every gathering is like this now!!!