Team Building Read online

  Author’s Note

  I grew up on Gilligan’s Island episodes, and later (for the purposes of this little note), Charlie’s Angels (the original series with Kate Jackson, Jaclyn Smith, and Farrah Fawcett). I haven’t watched the reboot of the latter.

  There was an episode of Gilligan’s Island in which the castaways are discovered by a group of people who have some interesting technology; they have rings that control the wearer into doing whatever they’re told. I was old enough to realize how silly an idea that was, but the basic idea still stuck with me.

  Later, there was a Charlie’s Angels episode in which the subject of their investigation used hypnosis to commit murder. One of the angels is snared, but of course, it all works out in the end.

  The concept of being able to control the minds of others is a recurring trope throughout fiction, with the methods coming in a wide, wide range of ways. Vampires, magic flowers, hypnosis, a variety of parasites, magic, drugs, technology: the methods are myriad.

  Because of all this, I grew up fascinated by the supposed promises of hypnosis. I’ve experimented, wondering if it actually works. We’ve all seen videos of stage hypnotist shows. We’ve zoned out to things we find hypnotic. My personal experimentation suggests there’s a lot of hype, but it’s largely hype. Oh, I have no doubt that quit smoking hypnosis programs can help, but they aren’t a magic cure. Someone manages to quit smoking because they want to, and if the hypnosis helps them to focus on it, or to believe they have the strength, go for it.

  I think there’s a lot of hype, but it’s just hype.

  In spite of my clear skepticism, I continue to think about it. And anyone who has read my past work knows sometimes I let various forms of mind control creep into my work. Creep. Ha. That’s not the right word at all, is it?

  But to me, I enjoy the fun stories, the guilty pleasure stories. I like stories where control is used for good, not evil. And I read one of those stories recently, and the next morning, I began work on this story.

  So, I offer a bit of fluffy fun, another guilty pleasure. I think we all need those once in a while.

  Please enjoy.

  Robin Rosseau, July 2019

  Team Building

  I sat in my car for several minutes, staring at the main entrance to Altered Events. I fumed, I absolutely fumed. To say I didn’t want to be here was putting it mildly. This was my company CEO’s fault, and I’d almost quit over it.

  RealSoft, Inc. was a Software as a Service company specializing in solutions for the real estate industry. At our most basic level, we provided the full range of software solutions for small real estate companies, the little shops you might find in some little resort town in the Florida Keys, perhaps. It started with providing a web presence for them, each with common features, but each unique in appearance and style. It went on from there. I was a developer for RealSoft.

  We weren’t a big company, about 50 strong, and unlike most software companies, we had more women than men. That was probably because our CEO was Tara Stout, a woman, and she’d originally only hired other women, although eventually that would have gotten her into trouble with discrimination laws. And so we were 34 women and 16 men, with the men scattered throughout the company and up and down the corporate ladder.

  I liked the work, but I hated, absolutely hated the office politics. Women can be every bit as cutthroat as men. I’d tried very hard to just keep my head down and focus on my job, but I’d been dragged into the infighting a time or two, much to my detriment. I’d thought Tara was oblivious to what was going on, but I certainly hadn’t any plans to tell her.

  Well, either she wasn’t oblivious, or someone braver than me had talked to her. And so, Tuesday, she’d assembled the entire company for a company meeting, even flying in the remote workers and canceling several vacations.

  She didn’t waste time with niceties. She didn’t thank us for being there or tell us what a great company it was. She didn’t apologize for canceling vacations for several people. Nope. She’d stood up, paused just long enough for all of us to realize she was standing, and said, “I’m tired of it. Morale at this company is abysmal.” That part was entirely true. “Quality is suffering. Sales are suffering. Furthermore, even I hate coming to work, and I used to live to come here. It was my baby, and I poured my heart and soul into this place. This company has defined my entire life for the last 15 years, and I’m not sitting back and letting it be ruined by office politics. They end. Today.”

  I nearly stood up and began applauding, but something kept me in my chair. The shoe hadn’t fallen yet, and although I didn’t realize that, I wasn’t really the sort to draw that kind of attention to myself. I might have been, once upon a time, but see previous comments about keeping my head down and doing my job.

  “This weekend,” Tara went on, “You will all attend a team building seminar hosted by Altered Events.”

  There were groans around the room and a few people muttered about prior commitments.

  Tara slammed her open hand on the table. “I don’t care! You may be excused if you or a close family member are in the hospital or dead. Or the door is right there.” She pointed. “Sales are down. We lost Bill Bickson Realty last month, and I know for a fact it’s because we didn’t have our shit together. I’d blame the people who seemed most blamable, but frankly, I’m not going to fire myself, and I’m no longer sure who to trust around here. Bill Bickson wasn’t our biggest client, but losing someone like that hurts. Next week, I am trimming the company by a fifth, so if you still want a job by this time a week from now, you will arrive on time Friday afternoon, and you will pour yourself into the event. Or go ahead. Make my decisions a lot easier. Do you think I like firing people?” She pointed to the door. “It’s right there. Two-weeks’ severance, and I’ll pay your medical insurance for three months, or until your new insurance kicks in at your new job, whichever comes first.”

  I almost took it. Tara stood there, her hand pointing to the door, red in the face, and even from my seat, I could see she was trembling. I almost took the severance, and I would have, but I was slow.

  Mary Gibb stood up. Mary was really cute and actually pretty sweet, one of the user experience designers. “I’ve participated in a co-ed Altered Events, um, event once. Biggest mistake of my life. I’m not doing it again. I can get a job anywhere. I quit.”

  “You’re right, Mary,” Tara said. “You can get a job anywhere, and my apologies. The men will be going to the Brighten facility. The women are going to New Essen.” She said the next words very gently. “Please sit down, Mary. Please.”

  Mary stared at Tara for several seconds before slowly sitting back down. Tara continued to look at her for several more seconds before she said, “I’m sorry. I’d intended to say that first, but clearly I’m not at my best.” She looked around. “I haven’t been sleeping. It feels like my company is crumbling, like my baby is dying.” Then she straightened. “I had an offer to sell. It was a really crappy offer, but I almost took it. If I do, you’ll all be on the streets in a month, because the only thing they really want is our customer list. I haven’t said ‘no’ yet, but this weekend is my last attempt to fix this. If enough of you put yourselves into this that I think we can salvage what we used to have here, then we can move forward. Otherwise I’m selling. I can’t keep up this way any longer. I’d consider an employee-led plan if you can match the offer, but frankly, I doubt the lot of you can work together enough to match it.”

  She began moving to the door. In the doorway, she turned around. “You will receive an email from Altered Events. You will have walked through their front doors by four PM on Friday, or you will have tendered your resignation. If you are a no-show, my offer from a few minutes ago is void. If you aren’t going to be there,
tell me so I can cancel your reservation.”

  * * * *

  That had been Tuesday. It was now Friday, and I had fifteen more minutes to get out of my car and make it to the door I was staring at.

  I really didn’t want to be here. I’d let myself be Altered before, not by this company, but by another. I hadn’t enjoyed it. Oh, I wasn’t abused or anything like that. It had actually been pretty tame. But I hadn’t liked reality being played with like that. I hadn’t liked it at all, and I didn’t want to do it ever again.

  I had friends who didn’t understand it. They’d tried to get me to go to all sorts of altered events. Not Altered Events, the company, just the idea. I’d refused, refused, refused, and then told them I hoped they had fun.

  I knew I wasn’t going to quit. Tara had actually been right about a lot of what she’d said. But I didn’t want to be here.

  A knock on my car window startled me, and I jumped in my seat. I looked over. Mary was standing there. I rolled the window down. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve been watching you for ten minutes.”

  “That long?”

  “I pulled in behind you.” She gestured to her car. “I didn’t want to walk in alone. I was going to catch up to you. Or are you going to chicken out?”

  I sighed. “No. God, Mary, I don’t want to be here.”

  “Neither do I,” she admitted. “What do you think of what Tara said?”

  I gestured to the front entrance. “This seems a little desperate.”

  “Did you see her? She was on the edge of losing it.”

  “She’s right about the politics.”

  “Yeah,” Mary said. “I’ve been kind of looking.”

  “You could get a job anywhere.”

  “Yeah. Working for a man.”

  “Yeah,” I said. It was a man’s field.

  “Tara hired me herself,” Mary went on. “God. I was half in love with her. Selena, please get out of the car.”

  That was me, Selena Stark. I nodded. “All right.”

  She stepped away, giving me room. I rolled up the window then opened the door and climbed out. My bags were in back, a rolling garment bag and a duffle. Mary just had a suitcase. I propped the duffle on the garment bag, closed up the car, and then gestured.

  We walked together, arriving at the front door with at least ten minutes to spare, if we wanted to keep our jobs. We weren’t the only ones arriving near the last minute, and we actually slowed down to let Ida Graves enter in front of us. Ida was in sales and acted like going in ahead of us was her due. After all, she was in sales, responsible for bringing money into the company, and we were just developers, and our shortcomings represented the entire reason she didn’t have more sales and bigger commission checks.

  That thought drove home how poisoned my own attitude had become, and I wondered whether I’d somehow been contributing to the caustic environment at work.

  Altered Events, in spite of the nature of the technology employed, welcomed us with a classical, high end appearance. The main lobby sported what appeared to be marble floors and columns with a lot of cherry wood for the main counter and walls. Lighting was indirect, and it was quite beautiful.

  “Nice place,” I muttered.

  “Yeah. Tells you how much money they make,” Mary replied.

  “No,” I countered. “It tells you how much money they expected to make when they built it.”

  She laughed. “True. Do you think their investors are complaining?”

  “I doubt it.”

  We looked around. Immediately in front of us was Nina Cain, Tara’s assistant. Tara was standing alone near the windows to the left. She wasn’t smiling. I wasn’t surprised when Ida turned and walked directly to Tara. The two spoke for about three seconds before Ida turned around and began walking to Nina.

  Mary and I arrived first, however, and I felt a flush of pleasure. It was petty, and I recognized it for that. I felt a little ashamed.

  I’d become part of the problem.

  “Thank you for coming,” Nina said. She offered a brief smile. She had a clipboard and made two checkmarks. “You can check in.” She gestured to the front desk. “Our first event is at 4:30 in Event Room Blue.” She made another gesture. “It’s down that hallway and take a left at the major intersection. There are signs.”

  “Thank you, Nina,” Mary said. I simply nodded, and then the two of us turned to the reception desk.

  * * * *

  I came to a stop just inside the doorway. We each received a room for the weekend, but it was almost nothing. I’d never been in a smaller hotel room. Let’s just say there was little wasted space. I pulled my bags the rest of the way into the room. I tossed the bags on the bed and my purse on the small desk, then looked around.

  The far end was curtained, and they were closed. I would have expected them open, letting in the daylight. I crossed the room to open them myself, wondering how horrible the view would be.

  It wasn’t a window. It was just a wall.

  The money they’d spent on the lobby they’d more than made up for in the rooms. I wondered if Tara’s room looked like this one. I wondered whether Ida’s did, and what she was saying right now if hers looked like mine.

  “Damn it, Selena,” I said out loud. “God, you’ve turned into a bitch. This isn’t you. It isn’t you!” Yes, I spoke out loud. “You should have quit a year ago, and you would have, if you had known this was the type of person you were going to become. You’re not paying for the room. The bed looks comfortable.” I walked over and sat on it, then actually lay down. “Yes, actually. It’s comfortable, or seems to be. How much time are you going to be here? Stop being a bitch.”

  At Reception, they’d ensured we understood the information they’d given us. We’d signed releases, and they’d given us directions for tonight, and a very rough schedule for the weekend. Tonight was our first event, then dinner, and then a second event. The schedule had indicated preferred clothing. For our first event and dinner, business casual was acceptable. The event afterwards called for athletic wear, and we’d have time to change.

  I used the bathroom. It wasn’t any bigger than necessary. Every hotel I’ve ever been in had included a bathtub, usually with an integrated shower. I actually didn’t like that style. I was surprised, somewhat pleasantly, to see Altered Events didn’t waste space on a tub. There was a simple walk-in shower, and as showers go, it was sufficiently roomy, bigger than mine at home. But I was surprised to see it.

  I washed up, checked my appearance, dropped the lanyard with my event ID on it around my neck, and then grabbed my purse.

  * * * *

  I decided to reach the event via the lobby. Tara was still there, still standing at the window. Nina was gone. I considered, and then I walked directly to Tara. She noticed and turned to me. “Selena,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I thought I was heads down, just trying to do my job. I think I’ve been part of the problem. I don’t know if I’ve added to it, but I think my attitude has turned terrible. I’m sorry.”

  She pursed her lips then looked away. Finally, she turned back. “I consider myself at fault. I’ve avoided pointing fingers, but if I were going to write a list of problems, you wouldn’t be in the top half.”

  I inclined my head. “Still. I’ve had a shitty attitude lately. I’m sorry.” I looked up. “If this doesn’t get better, I’m leaving.”

  “If it doesn’t get better, we’re all leaving,” she said. “But I understand entirely.” She offered a brief smile; it looked strained. “I saw you pull in. I wasn’t sure you were getting out. I wasn’t sure Mary was, either.” I didn’t say anything to that. “I’m glad you both did. Maybe you’ll have a good time.”

  “Frankly, I doubt it. I don’t like feeling altered, not able to trust myself.”

  “You’ve done something like this before?”

  “Just once. It was tame; I just didn�
��t like it.” I didn’t say more. “I better go or I’ll be late.”

  She nodded, and I turned my back on her.

  * * * *

  I stepped into the Event Room Blue. It was a medium-sized room filled with loungers arranged in a circle, all facing a 15-foot circular stage at the exact center of the room.

  There were two smiling Altered Events employees waiting. “Welcome to Altered Events,” one said cheerfully. She gestured to me. “Your ID is backwards.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I took it off, turned it around, and pulled it back on.

  “Very good.” She consulted a list. “You are in 17.” She gestured. “Take a seat and don the headset. If you need help, raise your hand, and someone will come help you.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I turned right, circled a third of the room, and then stepped up to the back of lounger number 17. Before sitting, I looked around. There were exactly 50 loungers. Rather than clustering us together, we were spread apart, and at least for now, there was no one sitting to either side of me. If everyone in the company came, and if Tara was participating, we’d consume 34 seats, leaving 16 free. If we were evenly distributed, most of us would have someone immediately to one side and an open seat on the other.

  I was a geek. I automatically thought about those things.

  Maybe half of us were seated. A few more were talking. I saw Mary. She was not quite directly across from me, already seated with the headset in place. I glanced around and found four more of my immediate peers, other developers, and we were spread well apart. The nearest was Lanie Burnett, one of our graphics designers, five seats to my right.

  I sat down, settling into place with my purse in my lap. The lounger was fairly low, but it was upright, my legs stretched out in front of me. The headset was on a low table to my right. I grabbed it, looked at it for a minute, then sighed before pulling it into place.

  It was comfortable, a padded band around my head. It came to life, and the size adjusted. Then ear muffs settled into place, and I knew immediately there was a noise canceling system involved, as it became very quiet, far quieter than it would be with passive headsets. A transparent face shield descended over my eyes, molding into place and cupping my nose and cheeks gently, and then words appeared on the screen, and a gentle woman’s voice whispered into my ears.