Fostering Enduring Relationships in Bunkhouse Seven

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“How many points is that, Debra?”

Debra looked at the dart with green plastic feathers – she assumed that’s what that was called, even though it looked nothing like real feathers – sticking out of the off-white sliver of cork below the number “5”.

“I’m going to go with five, Pete.”

Pete rubbed the stubble on his jowls and shook his head. “That can’t be right. I mean, maybe it is. But doesn’t how far away from the number change the score? Otherwise the center wouldn’t be worth extra, right?”

“The bullseye? You aren’t near the bullseye,” she said.

“I know I’m not,” Pete said. “I’m just making a point.”

“It’s not a bullseye. So don’t worry about it.”

Pete nodded. “Okay. So, how many points then?”

“Still five, Pete. Still five.”

Pete grumbled and wiped his hands on his khakis. He and Debra were wearing matching blue polo shirts with the logo of their employer – Excelsigen Global – emblazoned on left breast in yellow and green thread. The shirts were almost as ugly as they were poorly made. Exclesigen Global was based in London, with American operations throughout the Southeastern United States, including a facility in Charlotte, North Carolina, where Debra and Pete worked.

Two weeks before the dart game, Debra, Pete, and six other members of the management team received an email from the London office advising them they would be attending a retreat near Asheville. Two members of the home office would also be in attendance. “This weekend will provide an opportunity for members of the Excelsign family to get to know each other, to strategize, and most of all to have FUN!” The “FUN” was in a whimsical font, not quite as egregious as Comic Sans, but not far from it.

On Thursday the British contingent arrived in the Charlotte office. Phillip Harrison, the grey haired Executive Vice President of Western Hemisphere Operations (VPWHO) and Ian Galloway, a younger man who proclaimed he had a head cold from the flight met with the management team to discuss business and the retreat.

“The weekend will give us all a chance to think outside of the office, and, ergo, the box, you see?” Phillip said. “And, of course, we will have a chance to build our team so that relations within this office and with the mother office in London will be strengthened and more resilient.”

“And maybe there’ll be time for a bit of your famous whiskey, right?” Ian asked with a chuckle, followed by a sneeze.

“Whiskey?” Debra asked.

“Jack Daniels. That’s made here, yeah?” Ian said.

“That’s a different state,” Pete said.

“Yes, quite,” Phillip said. “In any event, I do not think intoxication will be on our agenda.”

Ian shrugged. Then he sneezed again.

The American group took a company van from Charlotte for the nearly two-hour drive to the retreat site. Phillip and Ian drove separately in a rented car. When they reached the retreat they drove through a gate with a rustic sign hanging overhead that read “Mountain Oasis”. They followed a winding, narrow road until they reached a large wooden cabin in a clearing. The cabin had a sign proclaiming the building to be “Bunkhouse 7”.

When the group entered the building, they saw a large single open space that included a kitchen, dining area along with couches and chairs. There was no television, or any other form of entertainment visible, other than an old dartboard on the wall.

Phillip pointed to open doors on either side of the entry room. “The accommodations are there. Ladies on the left, gentlemen on the right. Get yourself set up and meet back in here in, say 30 minutes.”

Both sides of the bunkhouse were the same. There were four bunk beds in each room and a small bathroom attached at the back of the building.

“We’re all staying in the same room?” Pete asked.

“Looks like it,” Ian said, his eyes red and nose runny.

Pete declined an upper bunk.

Phillip advised the group he was not actually going to stay with them, but would be attending all scheduled meetings. He had a hotel room nearby so he could, as he put it, “continue to conduct business and what not. But have no fear, Ian shall remain.” Ian could barely conceal his lack of enthusiasm.

The weekend consisted of group discussions that could have easily been handled over the phone, and team-building exercises that could have doubled as introductory lessons for a level one class at a third-tier improv company. By Saturday afternoon, Phillip determined that strategies were well under way, and the team was well and truly built. He graciously announced the group was free to enjoy the facilities for the remainder of the day, and that they would meet for a farewell the next morning over breakfast before returning to Charlotte.

After Phillip drove away, several team members decided a hike around the property would be fun.

Pete and Debra declined, as did Ian, whose cold had been getting progressively worse. He decided to lie down on the couch in the front room which was marginally more comfortable than the bunk bed.

Pete and Debra tried to check their phones, but couldn’t get a signal. This was not a shocking development for either of them, as they had both checked once every ten minutes since they had arrived to no avail.

Pete suggested they try a game of darts, and Debra could think of no reason not to. Ian refused, claiming he was, in fact, asleep.

After Pete’s first toss, in which he had – apparently – scored a five, Debra picked up a red dart.

“Ian, do you know how to score this game?” she asked.

“I’m asleep.”

“Just tell us how to score,” Pete said.

“Why do you think I know how to do that?” Ian asked, abandoning his attempt to sleep and sitting up.

“Because you’re from England,” Pete said.

“That’s racist though, isn’t it?” Ian said.

“What?”

“Oh, he’s from England! He must know how to play darts,” Ian said. “Might as well ask me about fish and chips next.”

“You don’t like fish and chips?” Debra asked.

“I do, but that’s not the point. It’s the assumption, right?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Pete said as he walked to the kitchen and pulled a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge.

“No, it’s not,” Ian said. “If I asked you how to play a banjo you’d be furious.”

“People in England think Americans all play banjos?” Debra asked.

“No. That’s my point. We don’t think that. But if we did, you’d call us racist.”

“Whatever,” Pete said, sipping his soda.

“So, are you just going to stand there and drink your Dr. Pepper like some kind of asshole?” Ian asked.

“Wait. Are you saying assholes drink Dr. Pepper?” Pete said, his face screwed up in confusion.

“You’re missing my point. It’s not the Dr. Pepper per se. It’s the lack of an offer of one, isn’t it?” Ian asked.

“Do you want a Dr. Pepper?” Pete asked.

“No. Don’t care for it,” Ian said.

“That was uncalled for, Ian,” Debra said.

“What?” Ian said.

“Your name-calling.”

“I am sorry if I offended your sensibilities. I will not use grownup words anymore.”

“Don’t be reductive, Ian. I’m not a child. I’m 43,” Debra said.

“You’re 43? I never would have thought that.”

“I get that a lot. Most people think I’m younger.”

“Yes. Younger. That was what I was thinking.”

Debra shook her head and threw her dart. It landed in the outer bullseye ring, and under the number 1.

“Check that out, Pete,” Debra said.

“Looks like you got a one,” Pete said.

“That can’t be right. It’s close to the bullseye!” Debra said.

“But it’s under the one. So it’s one point. Isn’t that what we decided the deal was?” Pete asked.

“Ian, please, help us out here.”

“Oh, hip hip cheerio and all that rot, milady. I’ll get back to you on that right after I finish me tea and crumpets, hello what!” Ian said, his exaggerated accent sounding even more ridiculous with his head cold.

“I think I’m done with darts. I’m going to go read for a while. Pete, let’s call it a draw,” Debra said.

“Fine with me,” Pete said sipping his drink as Debra went to her side of the bunkhouse, closing the bedroom door. It wasn’t a slam, but it was a close thing.

“You know she got 25 points there, yeah?” Ian asked Pete.

“I do not care.”

“Hey, do me a favor and get me a Dr. Pepper,” Ian said.

“Asshole,” Pete muttered as he grabbed another can.

The next morning, Phillip arrived as breakfast was brought in. While the group ate muffins and drank coffee, the VPWHO made an announcement.

“Last night the company completed negotiations whereby we have agreed to be purchased by one of our larger competitors. I can’t tell you which company of course, but the deal will go through within a fortnight. The good news is that most of the company will remain more or less intact. The bad news is that North American operations will not.”

The employees groaned and erupted with chatter.

“What does that mean?” one of the managers asked.

“I’m afraid it means that your services will no longer be needed,” Ian said. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll all get a lovely separation package.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Phillip said, looking directly at Ian. “You will. Come on, Ian. You and I can talk on the drive back to Charlotte.”

Phillip and Ian left, with Ian looking as dejected as a soggy platter of fish and chips.

“Well, this weekend was pointless,” Debra said.

“I don’t know,” Pete said. “At least we learned how to play darts.”

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