I don’t necessarily think of myself as anti-social, but there are times when the company of my coworkers is just unbearable. I reached that point last week during a training session at a hotel in the Chicago suburbs, so I opted out of dinner with my “team.”
I did not think this was a big deal, especially since my teammates and I had had breakfast and lunch together during a 10-hour training day. My teammates are all good guys, but not one of them was even born when I graduated from college, and the idea of spending dinner talking about smart phones and I-pods was exhausting.
My goal for the evening was simple. I wanted to have Thai food delivered to my room and read my book. My teammates looked at me curiously, not understanding why I did not want to brave the rigors of the January night to go to Applebee’s with them. “See you tomorrow,” I said. “I’m staying inside where it’s warm.”
“There is no ‘I’ in team,” Joshua reminded me primly.
“No, but there is an ‘M’ and an ‘E’” I said, and fled.
I discovered the flaw to my plan immediately when I learned that the Thai restaurant where I always eat in Chicago no longer delivered. I did not want to go out into the icy Chicago night, but since I had a rental car and the restaurant was close, I ordered anyway.
A minute later I left to pick up my food. I stepped out of the elevator in the lobby and, horrified, got right back in: My teammates had decided to skip Applebee’s and were eating dinner in the lobby bar, meaning I would have to pass them on my way out of the hotel. This meant that I would have to explain to them why I was going out when I said I was staying in.
Since I had already ordered my food and given the restaurant my debit card, not going was not an option. As I debated what to do, the elevator started to rise; then the door opened and a large group of Japanese businessmen got in. Inspired, I determined to infiltrate their group and make my way out of the hotel incognito.
As the elevator began to descend I realized that I was about two feet taller than anyone else in the elevator and was, if anything, more conspicuous than ever, so as we walked out I bent my knees, squatted down and, hunched over, pretending to read a text message on my phone. My posture was not comfortable, or pretty, but I made it out of the hotel unseen.
I returned twenty minutes later, food in hand, and I realized that I now had to get back into the hotel. Feeling crafty, I wrapped my black scarf around my face, obscuring everything but my eyes. I pulled up my black hoody and raised the collar on my black winter coat. Miraculously, another group of Japanese businessmen was walking into the hotel and I had my cover.
Unfortunately, the businessmen were almost to the lobby so I had to jog to catch up with them. I managed to join the group, but with the added bulk of many layers of winter clothes, and my dinner in a plastic bag, I was severely unbalanced and, unused to running on ice, I fell, hard, taking a couple of the businessmen down with me, like dominoes.
I got up with dignity and, Thai food still in hand looked at the Japanese businessmen who were looking at me with inscrutable expressions. Then, they all bowed. Embarrassed, I bowed back, faster and lower than I intended, and, still on the ice, fell down again.
Next morning, I limped downstairs to join my coworkers for breakfast. Elaborately casual, I asked them how their night had been. “Dude,” said Joshua, “you missed it. Some drunk dude in a burqua took a header in the parking lot. I took a picture on my smart phone; take a look.”