Tuesday, May 31, 2005
A Team UnBuilt.
My initial design called for the wood to be carved into the shape of speed. And not in any symbolic or metaphoric sense. I was going to carve that floater into the shape of a pill, nail the wheels to it, and race it under the name “Speedy”. That was my plan. And I was relatively excited about it because, really, who doesn’t LOVE stimulants?
Well, that plan got aborted as I sat on my living room floor, the day before the big race, with a crippling hangover, praying to busy myself with ANYTHING other than loud-ass power tools. I almost ran it as the naked block of wood with the phrase “this blows donkey dicks” scribbled across the top of it in magic marker. Left handed, so it reads real nice-like. I would have named it: “The Texas Work Force Commission is My New Home.” But I don’t believe it would have been to my advantage, in a ‘life sense’, to do such a thing.
My Lady recommended that I make it simple, slap it together, and get it out of the way so I could stop crying about having to do it. But I couldn’t stop the crying, which led to egregious procrastination, which pointed me in the direction of absolute desperation. My mind was blank. I even forgot the whole “Speedy” concept, and could feel the “donkey dick” idea creeping its way back in. Apparently, my mental decrepitude was noticeable, so My Lady threw out the Weinermobile idea. Oh... it was so simple. So brilliant. So… all I needed was a hot dog and some sand paper. Rarely does that combination provide relief of any kind, but it certainly did then.
The competition at the workplace for this event was intense. Designs were kept secret. People were raiding each other’s desks looking for clues as to the techniques used in the competition’s construction. There was much shit-talking. It was absolutely ridiculous.
And no Team got Built that week.
Come race day, I was looking forward to two things: the open bar, and getting out of work an hour early to race my hot dog. Never once did the idea of competition OR team-building enter my head. It all felt like an exercise of the fragmented mind. The race itself. The open bar with coworkers (several of whom have seen me on a tear, which they may or may not have blacked out during). My hot dog with wheels. It was surreal, but boringly so. I was really hoping for something more monumental, though I have no idea what that might have been.
I got absolute LAST place in every category. I did not get obliterated and fall onto the race track yelling “this shit blows DONKEY DICKS! WHOOOOO!” or get into any real tiffs with coworkers (other than calling one female coworker a ‘dude’ all evening long). A failure on all fronts. A shining example of how one can fail at the micro level (the actual races and awards for creativity, best name, most effort, etc…) AND on the macro level (what “Team Building”? And, no one got stupid at the open bar).
So I cut my losses, tossed the dog (ZING!), and went home with just enough of a buzz from all the free booze to go to sleep early. Such is life.
Posted by Fist of Trueness at 5/31/2005 02:28:00 PM