by Unknown
I stand up from my desk and make my way to one of our larger meeting rooms. I’m holding a briefing for all the staff lucky enough to be my guinea pigs on the trip. It’s a chance for me to tell the chosen ones (aka the sacrificial lambs) what they’re in store for. I’m going to give them a briefing on their conduct (no hanky panky), what clothes they should or shouldn’t bring (bikinis are out, thermals are in) and what to expect (that it will be cold, wet and miserable).
The way I see it is that this briefing will set the tone for the rest of the trip. As I’m trying to impress the pants off Giles and Gunther, I need it to make myself look as professional as possible, by being in control and authoritative. And when I say impress the pants off, I don’t mean literally, as from what I’ve discovered of Gunther the vegan, he’ll probably be wearing hemp underwear.
Lucky enough, neither Gunther or Giles are attending the briefing as Gunther’s not over in the UK until next Thursday and Giles is on annual leave today. Which means that I can brief everyone else and then it will be like a well-oiled ship when we depart next Thursday afternoon.
One of the things I’ve got to do is to put people in teams. But I’m going to save that joy until later on, after I’ve explained the fun time ahead. There isn’t really a best bit about organising this crappy away trip, but I like to think that there is always a silver lining, and today’s silver lining is that I get to pick the teams. This means I can put Giles and Gunther in any team but my own. Bonus.
At exactly five minutes before anyone’s due to arrive, I load up my presentation and, amazingly, after much cursing and colourful language, the projector is behaving itself and actually working. All I need now are for the people to arrive.
You can tell a lot about people by how early they turn up to these things. As people start to trickle in, I wonder if I could mentally rig it so that I mix up the teams to have a few early birds, and then those that file in a couple of minutes past eleven, ‘the sorry I’m laters’ to even them out.
‘Right then, everyone,’ I say. I always have to bite my tongue at this point as I went to a school where we had assembly every day and it got drummed into me that we say ‘good morning, everyone’, and everyone chants it back. When I first started working here, I did actually do that a couple of times at our whole staff training sessions. That year our departmental approval rating went down, and people muttered about incompetent and patronising staff. Now you might think I’m being paranoid about this, thinking it was all about me, but there was even a sketch about it at our work Christmas party that year.
‘Thank you all so much for coming. I know that we’re taking a lot of your time up next week, but we felt that it would help a lot if we could have half an hour now just to check everyone knows what we’re getting ourselves into.
‘So, has anyone ever been in the Army or done anything with the TA?’
I see a rogue hand go up at the back. Perfect. That one’s going to be in my team.
‘Well, you’ll know what to expect, but for the rest of us, it might come as a bit of a shock. Essentially, they’ll be five teams of seven. We’re hoping to do the usual, mixing managers and different departments. It should be a good opportunity to get to know colleagues that you usually wouldn’t get a chance to meet.’
Oh, dear lord, I can hear what I’m saying and yet I’m still saying it. I am that person from HR that everyone wants to kill.
‘As you know from the medical forms and disclaimers you had to sign, this is going to be fairly physically demanding. Now, I don’t know any more than you do about the content of it, but I have been told that if you want to get something out of the day then you have to put something in. This is a team-building event. I want you to bond with your group and I want you to help everyone along.
‘The way it works is that each team is taken to a different location. We’ll all have maps and we’ll be told another location that we have to get to – we’ll all be trying to reach the same point. We’ll be given an hour and a half’s head start before six ‘chasers’ try and catch us. Every time they catch your team, you are given penalty points, but after that you’re given half an hour’s grace to get going before the chasers can look for you again. If you make it to the central location without being caught, you’ll get bonus points. You can also try and get bonus points by picking up flags along the way, but these flag stations will be favourite hang-outs for chasers. There is also an elite chaser that will hunt all teams. Apparently he is ex-special forces and a top tracker. If you manage to avoid him, you’ll get bonus points. You can also receive them for special tasks that you must take photographic evidence of, such as shelter building, survival eating et cetera.
‘You will be scored as teams rather than individuals, so this is an opportunity to work together. If you’re caught and you’re missing any members of your team, you’ll get penalty points.
‘So, if there are no questions about the team-building part, can you have a quick read of the things you’ll need to bring with you and then let me know if you have any questions.’
I look up and see a man waving his hand in the air.
‘Er, yes?’ I say pointing at him.
‘It says here we have to wear army fatigues. I’m afraid that offends me as I don’t believe in armies.’
I wrinkle my eyes in confusion. I understand that he might not believe in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, as they may not actually exist, but I’m pretty sure that the Army exists. The fact that we work about five miles down the road from Aldershot, the Home of the British Army, is a slight giveaway.
‘When you say you don’t believe in armies …’ I say as diplomatically as I can.
‘I don’t believe in what they stand and for, as such, I don’t want to be dressed like them.’
‘Right,’ I say. Now I’m not exactly pro-war and I did in fact go on an anti-war march for the Iraq war. We’ll skip over the fact that I had seen this guy I fancied on campus getting on a bus and, with it being midnight, I mistook it for a party bus on its way somewhere infinitely more exciting than the students’ union. I passed out somewhere south of Leeds and was awoken at dawn in London.
‘The thing is, the idea is that we all wear the same thing. That way everyone in your team is equal and if you don’t wear the fatigues then that already stands you apart,’ I say.
‘But what about those who are vegetarians or have special dietary requirements, they don’t have to eat meat just to fit in with the rest of the team, do they?’
Oh, great. We have an office of five-hundred-and-sixty people, and after taking a random five per cent segment of the staff we managed to get Mr Know-it-All. He is not going on my team. And I certainly can’t have him on either Giles or Gunther’s teams.
‘Good point. But unfortunately you’re going to have to wear them because you signed the contract in which you agreed to follow the rules, and one of the rules is to wear the fatigues.’
Ouch, take that, awkward man. Today’s lesson: read what you are signing. It seems to have done the trick as Mr-I-Don’t-Believe-in-Armies is looking glumly at the floor.
‘Any other questions?’ I ask hesitantly.
‘When it says we have to carry our own bags, what does that mean?’ says a woman at the back.
‘We get given rucksacks with all our kit and vital supplies and we have to carry it.’
‘So we don’t have Sherpas or anything?’
‘Um, we’re not going up a mountain, we’re trotting around the South Downs countryside. I’m sure the distances involved are short and you’ll be able to manage your bag. And I don’t think there are too many hills,’ I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. Baz did send me an Ordnance Survey map and I’m not a geographical expert, but many of those contour lines looked tightly packed together.
‘Anyone else?’
At least four hands go up.
‘It said on the risk assessments that we may get wet, yet there’s no mention of swimwear. Do we need to bring some to go under
our wetsuit?’ says a woman at the front.
‘Um, no, as you won’t be wearing wetsuits. Everyone will be issued with army fatigues and that’s what we wear all the time, apparently.’
More hands shoot up – every question seems to prompt another. Thank God Giles and Gunther aren’t here because this is fast turning into a shambles.
‘How about I go through the list, and then perhaps we can do questions at the end if you still have them? We’ve established that you’ll be given fatigues, but you’ll have to supply your own footwear. Ideally these should be hiking or walking boots rather than trainers as the terrain will be rocky and muddy. They advise you to take a change of clothing, especially underwear.’ Clearly in case you shit your pants, I think to myself. ‘In case, er, they get wet during the day.’
There’s a collective murmur at this point. I’m wondering where the flags are going to be placed and whether we’re going to be swimming or making rafts to get to them.
‘You also need comfortable loose-fitting clothing to wear after we’ve finished and for the awards ceremony.’
I share the puzzled look on people’s faces as to why we have to have loose-fitting clothing for the presentation of the awards. Surely we won’t be doing power lunges on the way up to the podium?
‘All personal items that aren’t essential should be left at our initial rendez-vous point. Now I’d advise against taking any valuables with you as we’ll probably have to lock them in the minibuses. So, if we’re all happy with that, I’ll commence with the programme of events.’
I ignore Mr I-Don’t-Believe-in-Armies, whose hand has shot up. I’m wondering just how much his manager told him about this trip before he signed up.
‘We will be leaving here at 1600 hours sharp on Thursday and travelling to the South Downs in our minibuses with designated drivers, you know who you are, and we should arrive at the scout hut around 1730. We will then be given our kit and a safety briefing before dinner. We get some tips on escape and evasion from our chasers that night, and we will be sleeping in a scout hut. Females will be in one dorm, males in another and never the twain shall meet.’
There are a few chuckles and grins around the room as we almost do a silent salute to the manager and his secretary who did the dirty on the final infamous Wales trip.
‘I don’t know what time we start the escape and evasion on Friday, but apparently we have to be at the final point by 1600 hours, so at 1530 your chasers are called off and you make your way there. We then head back to the scout camp to get changed and for the presentations. Any questions?’
‘Are there any facilities at the scout hut?’
‘Um,’ I say, stalling for time. ‘I’m not entirely sure. I know there are toilets. I think it’s a dormitory, so I’m guessing camp beds.’
‘So it will be like camping?’ another person asks.
‘Sure, like camping,’ I say. ‘In fact, remember to bring a fleece as it will probably get chilly in the evening.’
‘Will there be fresh water for me to wash my hands? I’m going to have to take my contact lenses out,’ shouts out someone else.
‘Yes, I’ve been told that there will be food and water. I’ve also heard the words “cook-out” used,’ I say enthusiastically. I think I read too much Enid Blyton as a child, but cook-outs still hold a bit of a magic for me. I can just see us now putting jacket potatoes in foil, and toasting marshmallows. If only Mark was coming as well, it sounds so romantic.
‘Right, if there are no more questions, I think that takes us to deciding teams. I’m going to call your name and give you a number and then that will be your team number.’
I start reading out the names first, then assigning numbers. I may have done a couple of swaps. Believe it or not, Mr I-Don’t-Believe-in-Armies was supposed to be in my team. Instead he’s now in team five and I managed to swap him with a quiet-looking man.
When I finish I look round the room and, for once, there are no hands up. I give myself a quick pat on the back. I’m clearly a born organiser after all.
‘Right then, if we quickly introduce ourselves to our teams and then we’ll have to get back to work. And between now and next week if you have any questions at all, you can either come and see me or email me.’
We break away into our little group of seven. I have to say that my team looks like a motley crew. If I’d been more foresightful then I would have been more selective in my choice of team, going only for the likely winners. Not that I’m competitive or anything. Really.
But no, it’s not about that, is it? It’s team-building, and it would probably look dodgy if my team won anyway.
‘So, obviously I’m Penny. Why don’t we go round and introduce ourselves?’
‘OK, I’ll start, I’m Annie, from Finance and I’m so excited to be coming. I’ve been in training for weeks now to get fit for it.’
‘Great, thanks, Annie,’ I say. I was worried that everyone was going to be really quiet and I’d be the only one talking, but it looks like Annie’s nice and friendly.
The rest of the group introduce themselves, and I think we’ve got a pretty good team. It consists of: Martin from Sales who looks pretty fit (in terms of for escape and evasion, not as in looks), Tim with the army experience – our star member, Jack and his manager Tess from Design, and Matt from IT.
As I say goodbye to my new band of brothers, the room starts to thin out.
I start packing away my stuff and I’m aware that there’s a young woman waiting for me.
‘Hi,’ I say looking up. ‘Have you got a question about next week?’
‘Oh, no. I just came up to say congratulations about Bridal Dreams.’
I look up at her in horror and I frantically look round to see whether there’s anyone else left in the room. The last two stragglers are just leaving and I turn my attention back to the woman.
‘How do you know?’ I ask.
‘I’m a subscriber, so I got my copy in the post. I was flicking through it this morning when I was eating my breakfast and I saw your picture.’
‘For the agony aunt piece?’
‘Yes, and the bride-on-a-budget piece. I didn’t know you were a wedding planner as well.’
‘I’m not. Not really, I’ve only done a couple. I can’t believe you saw it. It’s not supposed to be out until August.’
‘But it’s the August edition. They usually come out about six weeks before.’
‘That’s great,’ I say, hyperventilating. I remember when I sent the article off, thinking that I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a copy. I imagined myself racing down to the newsagents to see it. But I hadn’t for a moment considered the idea that anyone from my work world would ever read it. It’s not like I wrote an article for HR Magazine or anything. I hadn’t thought that there might be others at the company who would be getting married and reading Bridal Dreams.
‘I was pretty sure that it was you, but having come to the meeting it confirmed it. I absolutely adore the magazine, and I can’t believe you’re one of their monthly agony aunts. It must be a dream come true.’
It’s actually starting to feel more like a nightmare and I’m too stunned to reply.
‘Listen, um …’
‘Meg.’
‘Meg, do you mind if we keep this a bit quiet at work? I mean, it doesn’t look good for me to be talking about my hobby as I’m here.’
‘Of course, Penny. Mum’s the word,’ she says tapping her nose. ‘Right, well, I best get back to my desk.’
‘Yes, I’ll see you next week then.’
I watch Meg go and then I sit myself down in a chair before I fall down. I better hope that Meg’s good to her word and doesn’t tell Giles, or else I can kiss the promotion and maybe even my job goodbye.
chapter eighteen
princess-on-a-shoestring top tips:
Don’t forget to pack for your wedding night and the next day
Yes, I’ve known this to happen. A bride who shall remain nameless turned up to m
y hotel room the morning after her wedding in her wedding dress and a T-shirt after failing to pack anything to wear on her bottom half. If you’re staying somewhere the next day, take a couple of changes of clothes. Think about an outfit to wear the next day, and maybe also one for late in the night if you’ll be drinking after-hours in the hotel later (especially if your wedding wasn’t there). And don’t forget to take some special undies for the night of your wedding, just in case you’re one of the few couples who actually gets round to consummating their marriage on their wedding night.
Tags: wedding night, next day, clothes, packing, consummation.
I am a supreme packing goddess I chant over and over in my head as I walk into my house. Why oh why did I leave packing for this work trip until the night before? I’ve just got back from supervising the construction of the marquee and now I’ve got to pack before bed. I’ve been putting it off all week.
‘Honey, I’m home,’ I say cheerfully as I walk through the door.
‘You’re back! How did the set-up go?’
‘Really well. The wedding’s going to be beautiful,’ I say proudly.
There’s something different about Mark tonight and I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s just a little bit perkier than usual and his eyes are practically twinkling. He’s also fidgeting like he’s dying to tell me something.
‘What’s with you? Is everything OK?’
‘More than OK.’
Now he’s broken out into a full-blown smile.
‘You’re looking at Brown and Sons’ newest manager.’
‘What?’ I say, a matching smile appearing on my face. ‘Mark, that’s brilliant. Congratulations! So much for you being worried that Clive was going to fire you, huh?’