Summer Outing
Last Thursday was our company’s summer outing.
If you have ever worked for a large soulless organization I would expect a knowing and cynical grin to spread across your lips after reading that first sentence. If, instead, you thought “oh, a work outing! That sounds interesting” then you’ve obviously never worked for a large soulless organization.
The language alone should tip you off. If my Dad, a contractor in Arkansas, wanted to throw a party for his employees he’d probably say something like, “Hey, ya’ll. We’re having a party over at the house next Thursday. Ya’ll oughta stop by.” (He might also substitute “picnic” or “barbeque” or “cookout” or “fish fry” for the word “party.”)
We have a “summer outing.”
The invitation was nice enough. I deleted the original email but it went something like this:
To: AllNotesUsers
From: HR
Subject: [Company Name] Summer Outing at Last!
I’m pleased to announce that we will be having a summer outing this year! [We’ve had no summer outing for the last two years because summer has historically been the season of layoffs. –ed] It’s going to be a super-duper, fun cruise around Manhattan!
[Inserted here was a “funny” itinerary--a shuffleboard joke involving the boss, a couple of snarky references to clients. Ha.ha.-ed]
We’re all very excited to put on this event [i.e. It’s expensive -ed], and we’re planning well ahead so everyone can attend! [i.e. You have to go –ed]
Please RSVP by [date].*
* Due to space restrictions only [Company Name] employees may attend this event. [i.e. You should feel lucky that you’re getting this at all and there’s no way in hell we’re going to provide free food and booze to your spouse. Don’t even think about bringing a kid. –ed]
Happy Summer, everyone!
HR
So, basically we’re going to put 150 advertising people on boat, without their significant others, with an open bar from 6pm until 11pm with nothing to do except get hammered. Plus, nobody can leave. Let the fun begin.
* * *
We all dutifully boarded the rental busses to traverse the 10 blocks to the pier (liability issues with walking) where everyone was presented with a Hawaiian-style lei. (That’s pronounced, “LAY.” Imagine the jokes.)
The Abigail K pulled away from a midtown pier at about 7pm. Yes, we were supposed to leave “promptly” at 6pm but it turns out the big, BIG boss, from Boston was in town and, just to show how much he cares, he decided to join us. He was very late. When he did arrive he came up on the main deck and people shuffled around him nervously as we pulled away from the dock. He then disappeared into the management huddle where he remained for the rest of the evening.
I have to admit that the boat (nee, Yacht!) was much nicer than I expected. I imagined a smaller Staten Island Ferry—wooden benches and orange life preservers in an overhead bin—but it was a pretty swank ride: three levels, two bars, and the worse DJ that I’ve ever been exposed to. (Jimmy Buffet kicked it off and it went down hill from there.)
I immediately found a spot at the bar; sticking close to the five people I actually work with. As you may or may not know, the company I started working for in 2000 was purchased two years ago by a large advertising agency. About a half-dozen of us work in the “Interactive Group” building exciting things like marketing web sites and corporate intranets. The other 140 people in my office are ad people and they have absolutely no idea what it is we do. As a result, they don’t talk to us very much.
So, as I looked out across the main deck, I saw a large group of quasi-familiar people that I happen to share an elevator with. But, since this was a party, a few people did attempt to make contact. One very nice fellow sidled up early on and the following exchange ensued:
Guy: “Hi. I don’t think we’ve every officially met.”
Me: “Not really. I’m Peebo.”
Guy: “[Guy’s name], glad to meet you.”
[Handshake. Pause.]
Guy [cryptically]: “I’ve heard of you.”
Me [puzzled]: “Really?”
Guy [smiling]: “Yeah. Heard your name a lot.”
Me [baffled]: “huh.”
[pause]
Me: “So, what is it you do exactly?”
Guy: “Well I… [do some incredibly esoteric tasks described at length in a dense, advertising argot.]
Me [still unsure of what he does]: “Interesting.”
[pause]
Guy: “So, I’m gonna grab another Gin and Tonic.”
Me: “Great!”
I think we really made a connection.
We cruise on.
The night was cool and the view was pleasant. The Manhattan skyline is a beautiful thing from any angle, but it looks especially powerful and romantic from the top deck of a luxury yacht with your third, free Heineken in your hand.
By the time we got to the Statue of Liberty (another beautiful sight) most people were pretty ripped. I was trying hard to control my intake as I have a… er… history with work outings.
At the last Christmas party I got a little lost on the walk home. I ended up beside a river but I wasn’t exactly sure if it was the East River or the Hudson. And while getting lost in a city that I’ve lived in for six years is bad enough, it’s even worse given the fact the party was held about five blocks from my apartment. The outing before that I remember as a pleasant night at the Tribeca Grand Hotel. However, upon returning to work the next day people kept asking me about the “Snoopy Dance” and laughing. I’m still not sure what they were talking about.
This outing would be different. I decided it would be my goal to remember how I got home! (Ok. I admit it was a modest goal.)
The interesting thing about (relative) sobriety is you get to see the people around you disintegrate. When we left port, the deck of the Abigail K was filled with group of professional looking people standing in little huddles having polite conversations. By about nine it was a frat party. Groups of women swayed arm-in-arm with their shoes off and sang aloud to the music they’d mocked just a few hours earlier. Reservations about dancing with wild abandon in front of workmates were put aside. (I cringed and thought of the Snoopy Dance…) Married Account Managers holding margaritas flirted openly with Jr. Account Managers holding cosmopolitans. Non-smokers smoked and non-drinkers wobbled.
My friend D. and I were taking it all in. I made a comment about how it’s sort of a shame that there are all these people around us, ostensibly our co-workers, who we don’t really know. He looked at them, took a sip of his Jameson and said, “douche bags.”
I watched the city slide by. I listened to earnest conversations about work. I watched the people spin around the deck. I waited in line for the bathroom. I listened to people bitch about work. I had another beer. The night wore on.
At some point a buffet was served.
Soon after wrapping up a brief, ironic bout of head banging brought on by Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It” (in which, I’m ashamed to admit, I did indulge), we pulled back into port. Wishful rumors circulated by men with leis wrapped around their heads (Oh, the jokes!) reported that everyone was having such a great time that management was going to extend the cruise. These rumors proved unfounded when we saw management climb into town cars. We began to disembark.
A very sweet and stone-sober HR woman handed out car service vouchers and directed staggering, potential lawsuits to awaiting automobiles. I asked her, “R., when you look around do you see, like, a giant liability nightmare?” Without blinking she said “Yes!” and asked me how I planned to get home.