Result

Result

Some things you can just never predict. Take me and Sarah, for example.
Who would have thought she'd even look at me? And team days - they're
boring, right? How wrong can you be.

Right from the beginning, I did feel sorry for the guy. Team-building
in our department had always seemed a futile task. The prospect of
staying in a swanky hotel had been at least made it bearable last year.
No chance of that now, since the whole pregnancy thing.
"Now comes the fun bit," Simon said, standing in front of us and
rubbing his hands.
"Wanna bet?" I muttered to Sarah, who was sketching a caricature of
Simon as a cheerleader. She looked divine, as usual. Her chestnut hair
half obscured my view of her face.
"On these team-building days, when I mention role-play, everyone
groans." Simon looked around the circle of chairs and a couple of
people near me shifted uncomfortably. "But I promise you it's great
fun," he continued, "and a valuable way of looking at our business
skills."
Sarah added a speech bubble to her drawing. "Go Team! Go Team! Go F***
yourself!" She was so gorgeous.

The only highpoint of the morning session had been watching John, our
Sales Manager, getting more and more wound up. Normally calm, something
to do with the boss' late arrival and their conversation afterwards
seemed to really get to him. Even Simon was lost for words at his
replies when asked to name the team's number one strength (himself) and
weakness (everyone else). I, along with most other people, had partaken
of the plentiful booze at lunch, and decided I could not be blamed if
over-consumption caused me to drift off this afternoon. Nothing on the
agenda seemed likely to keep me awake. Except watching Sarah, of
course.

"So, any volunteers?" Simon looked encouragingly around the
group.
No one moved. I studied my fingernails and suppressed a chortle as
Sarah slid further down in her chair. No way did anyone want to
volunteer.
Peter, the boss, looked around with irritation. This day had been his
idea.
"Go on, then. I'll have a go," he said.
Thank god for that.
"Great." Simon pointed him towards a chair. "So, we've got our team
member. Now we need a business customer to identify a problem and
communicate it to Peter. Remember, no personalising, and we're looking
for solutions, not blame. Anyone?"
John stood up. I noticed Sarah sitting up a little straighter. John,
she had told me, had applied for the team manager's job at the same
time as Peter.
Simon talked them through the brief. "Okay, away you go."
"This should be fun," I whispered.
John stood up. "Your company stinks," he started.
"Please do sit down, sir. What is your complaint?" Peter said.
John remained standing. "Your service is appalling. Who's in
charge?"
"I'm the team manager, sir. I'm sorry you're not satisfied with the
service you received."
"So you're the monkey in charge."
A titter rose from the audience around me.
"Yes, sir, I am." Peter spoke through gritted teeth.
"Remember, keep the situation calm," said Simon, hovering in the
background.
"I don't think you could organise a piss up in a brewery," John said,
his voice a little slurred.
"What an appropriate phrase, John."
"Try and keep going, Peter. What would you do to keep the control in
this situation?" Simon asked.
"Perhaps we could talk about this in a civilised manner, sir," Peter
continued, with obvious irritation.
"Perhaps we could. Perhaps not." John advanced, trapping Peter against
the chair.
"Back off."
There was a collective intake of breath.
"Calm, people." Simon muttered.
"Back off," Peter repeated.
"What are you going to do about it?" John leered, flicking at his
shoulder.
At this, Peter swung a ferocious left hook, which landed plum on his
opponents jaw.
John stumbled backwards and then went for him, grabbing him around the
throat with two hands. The two men grappled, knocking over a chair. I
had to get out of the way as Peter hurled John across the room by his
tie, and he landed where I had been sitting. A few of the others got to
their feet and then stopped, unsure how to intervene.
"Somebody stop them," Sarah muttered, wincing as John regained the
upper hand in a particularly painful looking way.
I looked from her to them and back again. She did have a point - John's
nose was starting to bleed and frankly two middle-aged men pounding
each other was not a spectator sport that would ever catch on. Most of
my colleagues were watching with their hands over their eyes.
Okay, this is it, I thought, steeling myself. Anything to impress the
gorgeous Sarah.
I grabbed John's shoulders and started to haul him away while Simon,
looking rather pale, tackled Peter. Whether the 46 year old Peter is
endowed with Superhuman strength, or whether the usually enthusiastic
Simon was not up to the task, I will never know. All I remember is John
suddenly ducking and a look of horror crossing the faces of the
onlookers before Peter's fist thudded into my head. Not so impressive,
I figured, falling to the floor. Then I felt it. The gorgeous silky
smoothness of it. The perfumed smell of it intruding on my near
unconsciousness. Sarah's hand was stroking my hair. Bliss.
Well, of course I did have to get up eventually. Fortunately, Sarah's
sympathy showed no bounds once she'd got me home safely, and Peter even
gave me a raise to buy my silence. What a result.