Page 21 of Fun Together
“Oop, so sorry!”
She keeps her head down in the face hole. “Faye? I’m glad you’ve finally made it in.”
It’s 8:30, and the office opens at nine.
But I know I need to apologize anyway because it just makes her easier to deal with. I perk up into my “work voice,” cheery enough that people like to work with me, but not so cheery that my coworkers think I’m some kind of corporate robot that cannot be trusted. “Sorry, you know how crazy Monday morning traffic is.”
She lifts her head up, piercing blue eyes communicating that no, she does not understand why I’m unable to wield traffic to my commands. She probably operates motor vehicles like she’s Moses parting the sea of cars in her BMW.
“Come on in. I want you to meet Conrad.”
I walk into her office and sit in one of the faux leather chairs in front of her desk, wondering why I need to meet this man. Wondering why she had her door wide open for just anyone to walk in on this scene.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Faye.” The chair squeaks as I cross my legs. I’ve always hated these chairs because they’re the color of a sinus infection and are super uncomfortable.
He grunts out a barely audible, “I’m Conrad,” but doesn’t look over at me.
“You two are going to be working together on the initiative I told you about on Friday.”
I don’t tell her that she didn’t give me any details on this initiative, but I’ve learned it’s best to never accuse her of not doing something. “Can you remind what the objectives are for that? I’d like to make sure I understand the outcomes you’d like to achieve.” Alexis loves words like “objectives” and “outcomes.”
“Our quarterly employee survey results were awful, with responses indicating that stress levels are high. I’m heading up a new self-care initiative.” She nods up. “So, we’re bringing in Conrad.”
“To do . . . massages?”
The man in question grunts again, never once taking his eyes off Alexis’s shoulders.
“I’m doing a trial run this morning. You can work with Conrad on scheduling a day for him to come in and give a tutorial on the massage thing I had you test over the weekend.”
“He’s going to do tutorials . . . on the . . . massager?”
“Yes, I was thinking we could do ten-minute individual massage slots and then do a group class on the massager.”
“A group . . .”
At this point I’m wondering about her mental health because she seems to have taken the words self-care to a whole new level. Why can’t we do what every other company would do and just give everyone a ten percent off voucher to a local med spa or something? Now I have to put together a plan for an actual masseuse to come into a professional office environment and touch all my coworkers. And guide us along in a group session for how to use the massagers?
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I don’t really know how else to confirm this is what she wants without coming out and saying that the company would likely be sued for even givingmethat massager, much less handing them out to my coworkers and encouraging them to practice a little self-care with them . . . at the office.
She ignores my question and asks, “Did you test it over the weekend?”
“Did I—” I cough.
“What did you think? I thought it seemed like a great model and not too expensive. We’re not made of money here, you know.”
“It was . . . well, I guess it?—”
“Did it help with your relaxation at all? I’ve heard some friends of mine say after they use them they feel much more limber. Slept better, too.”
Come to think of it, I did sleep like a baby Friday night. “It—yeah, I mean it seemed like a well-made . . . device.”
“Good, because this is very important for employee morale. We need everyone happy and relaxed.”
Kill me.
“To confirm, you want me to order the massagers for everyone?”
“Yes.” She holds her phone out where she can see it through the little face hole in the chair. “Let me forward you my original order email so you can be sure to get the same model.”
