Team Building
“Chris, we’re waiting for you!”
Chris was always late.
“Shall we set off without you?”
“Chris we’re going to have to see you there! Have you got the address?!”
Chris didn’t have the address. Marni knew that Chris wouldn’t, but kept quiet. None of them had the address except her — she knew that everyone just relied on her organising everything and them following along like useless puppy dogs.
Nail-ique occupied the space on the High Street where the Cancer Research Charity Shop used to be, sandwiched between Tesco Metro and Cafe Nero. Inside it was two parts cocktail bar, one part hospital ward. The fixtures and fittings were all rose gold metal and dusty pink faux velvet upholstery. Oriental music played faintly in the background. The tone was always hushed: nobody spoke unless absolutely necessary, communication between staff and clients happened via a raised eyebrow, a slight nod of the head, a hand gesture here, a gentle pat there. The fumes of acetone and surgical spirits mingled with cherry blossom room fresheners that puffed and spluttered like tiny fragrant volcanoes. On the counter, towers of tightly rolled-up hand towels balanced on rose-gold beaten metal trays. Marni always thought they looked like fluffy sausage rolls at a bizarre all-you-can-eat buffet. The staff glided and gestured efficiently in quasi-medical white uniforms, eyes peered wide eyed from behind masks, as if having a pedicure was a serious biological procedure.
On the team WhatsApp group, excitement was bubbling.
“Let’s meet at reception at one!”
“Just finishing the daily report”
“LOL. It’s like herding cats!”
“Don’t leave without me, I’ll be five more minutes.”
“Did Chris say he was working from home today and meeting us there… I can’t remember?”
“Chris! WHERE ARE YOU?!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
… Chris is typing
…. Chris is typing
…. Chris is typing
Nothing.
“CHRISSSSSSS! We’re leaving soon!”
“Chris just because you lost at Axe Throwing last quarter, doesn’t mean your team will be last out of the Escape Room today!”
“Yeah we’ll give you lots of clues Chris, mate!”
The shelves just inside the door were lined with rows of small bottles of Opi polish.
“A colour for every mood!” The sign featured a photograph of glamorous hands with long, slender, immaculately groomed fingers.
The bottles contained every colour and finish you could want — from ‘cougar’ high-gloss ruby red to ‘hipster’ opaque yellow or blue — all in metallic, glitter, matt, gloss, two tone.
“Nail art and french polish extra!” the sign warned.
The front of the room was for manicures — a long white high gloss table with swivel chairs equally spaced along it’s length — staff one side, customers the other. Like a chess tournament each pair faced each one another intently: the customers’ hands draped across the table, the staff busying themselves filing and scraping, shaping and buffing, varnishing and topcoating. Two sets of eyes scrutinised each pair of nails for flaws, smudges, imperfections. The music strained away in the background.
The back of the room had a different vibe, less clinical, definitely more cocktail bar — darker and moodier. Marni wondered if it was because people were ashamed of their feet and wanted it to be more shadowy. A raised podium held a row of pink velvet-covered chairs with rose gold brass birdcage-like frames that wouldn’t look out of place holding an exotic dancer suspended from a nightclub ceiling. Each chair had a large basin at its foot. The staff were quietly moving about with a sense of urgency turning on the taps and filling the basins with warm scented soapy water.
They had a large party coming in.
When Marni had first started in Implementation she’d been excited that there was a budget for team building activities once a quarter. Being one of only two women in the team she — of course — was expected to organise all the socials. They’d played mini-golf, ten-pin bowling, darts, and even axe-throwing. They’d gone dragon boat racing, and to Go Ape, they’d scaled the O2, and had even done a trendy halloween-zombie-pursuit thing through Shoreditch late at night. God she’d hated that. The format was always the same — there would be some competitive physical activity which would involve a lot of shouting and piss-taking by the alpha males, and then the whole team would head to a craft beer place where everyone would get shit-faced and poke fun at Chris — or whichever poor person that had come last that day. Once Marni had suggested pasta-making and everyone had just looked at her incredulously. “Pasta-making?!”
But Marni was sick of the relentless boys’ club atmosphere in the Implementation team, and had, for the past few months, been secretly interviewing at other companies. At last she had been offered a new job, and was handing in her notice on Monday.
Her last social was too good an opportunity to miss.
“Chris! We’ll meet you at Cafe Nero on the High Street at 1.30! Don’t be late! Marni x”
She could’t wait. One of her favourite activities was to go for a pedi and a glass of fizz with her girlfriends. She smirked. As the Implementation team bundled into the lift behind her, completely clueless as to how their afternoon would play out, she pictured them all sitting uncomfortably on their birdcage thrones — their shoes and socks off, their trousers rolled up revealing hairy calves and gnarly toes, their feet in soapy water, discussing which colour they’d go for? Maybe just a buff and clear topcoat, Chris? Malcolm, do you think you might have a french polish this time? She wondered who would twig what was going on first, and which of them would be the first to flee, and what they’d say.
The way she saw it, it was a win-win situation. She had decided that if more than half of them were game, she’d tear up her resignation letter and stay. Really, it was up to them. Either way, this was literally going to be the best day of her life, she thought, as she the lift door closed and she pressed the button for the ground floor.
