The Paddle...

Every year there are 2 major events that take place in our office.  One is specifically for my department, and for the sake of anonymity I’m going to omit the actual title of the event.  This affair is planned with the intention of uniting our team. They herd us all to an off-site location, lock us in a room and commence a series of so-called “activities” that more so reflect medieval rituals of torturing transgressors until the life literally runs from their bodies screaming for redemption.  That is what this one day every year symbolizes to me. 

Last year the “committee” had a brilliantly schemed event, or so they thought.  Animal House.  I, myself, have never seen this movie, nor do I have any desire to, especially after what happened on that day.  The day began with presentations and pep-talks… lulling the majority of us off into catatonic states in which we found our happy places, pretending as if we weren’t being held against our will inside a corporate torture chamber.  I had just about drifted off into the oblivion of fantasy when the music started.

Karaoke.

For the love!  Not just any karaoke, but Animal House karaoke.  Being that I had never seen said film, I reluctantly stood on the stage, arms crossed, lips pursed and fury disgorging from my baby blues while the rest of my squad, under the austere instruction of our captors acted like brainwashed POWs with a sudden onset of Stockholm Syndrome.   

Next came a series of “drinking games” that were guised as team building activities.  We played water pong, corn-hole, threw fake fruit through a clown’s mouth, miniature golf and something else that must have been so harrowing that I completely expunged the recollection from my mind.

I haven’t yet mentioned that the center pieces for each of our tables was a wooden paddle.  I didn’t get it, but apparently it’s something to do with the movie. 

So the day carries on and I feel the life inside me slowly being chiseled away.  The activities were complete, no more presentations, but still no permission to leave.  Someone decided (in the midst of their disillusionment) to try and have fun.  One person grabbed a paddle, someone else a ping pong ball and we started batting things around the room.  Minding my own busy, scurrying after stray ping pong balls like a 4 year old, I felt a sudden burning sensation in my derriere.  FREAKING OUCH!  What the heck???

I turn around to see a Director from another team grinning from ear to ear, paddle in hand.  The suffering was no longer focused on the group, but on individuals.  I began running.  I had to escape the evil pursuing me.  Running for my life, dodging ping pong balls that were pelting me, plastic fruit wailed past my face as I attempted to lead the evil Director through the crossfire to his demise.  Finally, he found another target.  This carried on for about 20 minutes.  Hostage after hostage succumbing to the vengeance of the wooden paddle.

When I thought I couldn’t take anymore, that the force inside me one calls life had come to an end, my eyes beheld something so beautiful and surreal.  Sunlight.  The doors had been opened.  Our freedom granted.  I quickly grabbed my belongings and joined the mass exodus as everyone attempted to squeeze through the door to taste the sweet sensation of fresh air and independence.

It was over.  And no one ever spoke of it again.

A week later, this second event was to take place.  A dinner, to recognize and applaud employees who have committed to lifelong servitude to the company.  We dress up, act dignified and pretend to enjoy each other’s company when we aren’t getting paid to do so.  It’s almost unbearable.  My one ally and I had made it through the evening with grace, well, except for when she almost knocked over a tray of about 50 mugs and saucers because of too much wine, but we made it, nonetheless.  We had agreed to meet some others at a bar not far away and were walking through the parking lot to the car.  We were among the last to leave.  The parking lot was relatively empty and almost completely dark.  We wobbled across the asphalt in our stilettos.  Half way there. 

That’s when we saw him.  Our paddle-wielding captor.  In the distance he looked harmless.  Nothing to be scared of.

But then, suddenly, his gaze set in our direction, he began to acquire speed.  His suit did nothing to nullify the evil he resonated.  He ran toward us and as he passed under a street lamp, that’s when we noticed… THE PADDLE… in his hand. 

“RUN!!!!”  I screamed to my Ally.  We ran.  Or wobbled at a slightly quicker pace than we had previously.

It was no use.  His determination and thirst for the kill had overcome our desire to survive.  Bracing myself for impact, I threw my hand behind me to protect what little butt I have. 

CRACK!!!!

The paddle hit my wrist.  I blacked out.  I don’t remember anything else until we were in the car.  All I remember is saying “Drive…. Drive…. Drive…”