Parking Lot
The area where Bob worked was overstaffed by about half a dozen people. In abilities, the whole group ranged from the routinely mediocre to the flagrantly nonfeasant, although the tasks assigned were mainly busywork and the number of people assigned to them was large, so nobody could be quite sure who was doing anything worthwhile. On the other hand, the human resources department in its wisdom had determined that, in order to maintain a happy and productive workforce, rewards should be handed out to departments more or less at random.
“Why didn’t they just give us the afternoon off?” Bob asked Terri as they got out of his car in the Disneyland parking lot. “Seems like it would be cheaper just to let us go home than sending us all to Disneyland.”
They worked in the Lemon City facility, which wasn’t far from Disneyland, and they all carpooled to get there. He and Terri drove together, which was the luck of the draw, but they were probably the only ones who’d have this conversation.
“They call it a team building exercise,” she said. “We’re supposed to work more like a team if we all go to Disneyland together.”
“Some reward,” he said. “I’d rather just have the vacation time.”
“I’m not sure if it’s a reward. After all, maybe they think if we work more like a team, we’ll do a better job.”
But then Larry Dibble, their boss, drove up beside them with several others in his car, and that was the end of any discussion. A couple of other cars from the carpool pulled up as well.
“Well, is everyone here, then?” asked Dibble as he got out and looked around. “Great! Let’s go! Where’s the gate?”
The gate was, in fact, clearly marked, though some distance away. Disneyland presumably saw its interest in making sure customers clearly understood where to go to spend their money.
Bob and Terri, who’d arrived first, were a little outside the rest of the group around Dibble, and they started walking toward the gate. It took them a few moments to realize that nobody else was walking with them.
“What’s happening?” Bob asked Terri. “Where are they all going? The gate’s this way.”
Somehow Dibble had gotten the idea the gate was in some other direction, and they were all heading someplace else. Not only that, it was a hot day.
“Hey!” they called. “The gate’s this way!” One or two looked around and saw Bob and Terri gesturing and pointing. They must have understood, but they gave blank looks and turned back to follow the rest. The group was rapidly receding, Dibble leading the way. Bob and Terri looked at each other, wondering what to do. Considering the weather, they didn’t feel like running to catch up just so they could rush off in the wrong direction with the others. “Let’s go to the gate and wait for them there,” Terri said, and that was what they did.
Standing at the gate, they could see the group now and then as it wandered back and forth among the lines of parked cars. Nobody, as far as they could tell, seemed to want to make any suggestions to Dibble, and Dibble seemed determined not to lift his head up and see the big sign at the gate. It took them half an hour to turn up there, which meant that they’d walked at least an extra mile. They were all sweating. “Why didn’t you tell us where the gate was?” one of them asked.
“Didn’t you hear us? We were yelling and pointing,” Terri said.
Dibble said nothing.
John Bruce’s writing has appeared in numerous literary zines, and he’s received a Pushcart nomination. He has degrees in English from Dartmouth College and USC and lives in Los Angeles.
