The Leadership Chronicles: Life in a one-elevator town

I feel a little background on the course’s location and staff is needed to fully appreciate my experiences. The company running these classes has its own compound building, located in Alamo, about 90 miles north of Las Vegas. My dearest friend L. grew up there. How she turned out so normal is beyond me (a testament to her awesome parents, I am sure) because Alamo is … well, I don’t want one of its 800 inhabitants suing me so I will just stick to the facts: there are two truck stops, four motels, one Mormon church (yes, that explains a lot), no fast food restaurants, and one elevator. That elevator happens to be in the retreat’s compound building. The grounds were stunning, I will admit; I saw birds and deer and lots of green stuff (there is nothing green in Las Vegas, except money). The grounds were so very green in fact that the tree-hugger in me was concerned about how much water it took to keep it so lush. But the receptionist said something about underground water wells or what have you. I guess I could look it up, but I can’t be arsed. And the food was great (not that I could eat as much as I liked because I was so pre-occupied by the torture sessions classes). The rooms were clean, but there were bunk beds. Fortunately, the CPAP stuff meant I had a built-in excuse to grab a lower bunk.

Then there was the staff. From the grounds keeper to the receptionist, the kitchen staff and the moderators, and the course leader, every last one of them has taken at least one of the courses offered. And, boy, talk about drinking the Kool-Aid: these people were brainwashed engaged! They frequently asked us how we were enjoying the classes, they made sure we had everything we needed, and they held multiple cheerleading sessions that were a part of the meals. I know some of you might think I am exaggerating, but no, I am not making this shit up: towards the end of every meal, out they would trot, still in their uniforms, and perform a little skit for us, like doing the hokey-pokey or singing, all sorts of stuff that just made me cringe.

Then there was the course leader and the class moderators; or as I nicknamed them, Mr. Clean & the Tight-Ass Triplets. Add a goatee to Mr. Clean and you had the leader. Shove sticks up the asses of three regular people and you had the moderators. We later learned their sour demeanors were all an act; I actually never heard why exactly, because I didn’t care, but it might have been something to do with keeping a professional classroom environment.

And then there were my fellow inmates classmates (there were 16 of us). By the end, these people were taking the Kool-Aid intravenously and I had convinced them I was too, but it was all an act. And this is where it gets hard, because writing this series of posts feels like a betrayal to them. These are all genuinely nice people and they all worked so hard and were so supportive of me and were so into it and convinced they learned so much that they would apply to – gag – the “Seventh Module”, i.e., their real life (the course was made up of six modules). We’re all in a private Facebook group now; one of them started making friend requests on the bus ride back to town; another had his assistant reach out to us a few days after the class asking for our mailing addresses because he wanted to send us something (he did - a self-help book (I was hoping it would be chocolates (or wine))); one of them is planning a trip to Vegas next year and I would imagine he could be fun to hang out with and knock back a few; one or two of them I would even like to see naked, if you know what I mean. But maybe they won’t read this; I had mentioned this blog during one particularly torturous session (mainly because I love mentioning this blog!), but I won’t publish a link on my Facebook page like I sometimes do. I have on previous occasions wrestled with whether or not I should publish a particular post because I am concerned it might offend someone whom I know reads this blog. Most times I can disguise the situation enough so as not to offend, but I have spiked more than one post out of deference to my friends or because there are things I do not want some of them to know (this has been less of an issue since I unfriended all my English relatives (they still don’t know I was out of work for 18 months)). I guess if my teammates come across it by reading older or newer links then so be it; maybe enough time will have passed by then that they can forgive me. We’ll see.

The Leadership Chronicles: Two Truthful Two Lie

• Up until this course, in the seven years I have had my cat, I have never been away from him for longer than 15 hours.
• Up until this course, in the nine years I have lived in Las Vegas I have only once left the city limits (and, no, going to Henderson or North Las Vegas does not count, they’re all pretty much the same city).
• I lived in Colorado for 15 years and never once went skiing.
• I am allergic to cinnamon.
• I am still driving the first car I ever bought.
• I have never had a root beer float.
• I have never seen an entire episode of The Sopranos or Game of Thrones or The Walking Dead or Breaking Bad or Mad Men or The Wire or Veep or Orange Is The New Black or Arrested Development (that list goes on – just think of any premium-cable and/or trendy TV show and in all likelihood I have not seen an entire episode).
• I have never been to a prom.
• I have not seen my parents in 17 years.
• I saw Frank Sinatra in concert.

In the weeks leading up to my class, one of my co-workers who had completed the course clued me in on some things that might happen. One of the last things she told me – as she was driving me to the pick-up point, as a matter of fact – was that her team played a game of Two Truths & A Lie. Because this information was so last minute, I spent the majority of the coach ride trying to come up with a believable lie. What I mean is, because of my amazingly boring life, my truths are somewhat out there so I am sure they come across as lies. Add to this the fact that I did not spend my childhood or teenage years in the US and so a lot of stuff Americans take for granted, I have never done – for example, I have never eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Or gone to Disney Land. Or been to a sleepover. I could go on. We never ended up playing that game but had we, the list above is what I could have put out there (and if anyone is interested, hit me up privately and I will tell you which one is the lie (yes, there is only ONE)).

Introducing The Leadership Chronicles

When I first moved to America, it took me a long time to understand and accept certain aspects of American, um, culture and lifestyle choices. Like their fascination with cheese, particularly the melted kind (I call it edible glue), and that they put it on EVERYTHING. And how they elected two Bushes (although that one might be trumped (ha!) in November (but for the love of all things holy please don’t let that be the case)). Or all the commercial breaks on television shows. Or how a sport that features only two countries has a finale called the World Series. But the one uniquely American thing I have never been able to embrace is that positive thinking, cheerleading, you can achieve anything if you put your mind to it, Kumbaya stuff. I hate it. But you Yanks love that stuff. It’s a billion dollar industry. There would be no Oprah Winfrey without it. But I think it is BS.

So imagine my utter discomfort when in the middle of September my company sent me on a three-day leadership retreat. It was three days of positive affirmations and voice projection and team-building exercises and identifying the golden characteristics of a leader (that is a direct quote from the handbook). It was three days of hell. The only positive that came from it is that it provided fodder for this blog. So much so, in fact, that instead of one humongous post, I am going to split it up into several small posts. Stay tuned!