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.