USA!

Upon arriving at work Monday morning, I was rushed into an emergency department-wide meeting. The mood in the room was serious; given the urgency with which the meeting was called, it seemed like we were about to receive some bad news. Merger? Lay offs? Bankruptcy? The VP of the department came in and a hush fell over the room. He held a stack of papers in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. He did not look unlike Bill Lumbergh. He walked to the front of the room and began to speak. "Good morning. We called this meeting to let you guys know about something we'll be doing this week." He paused and began to pass out the papers. "We're going to be playing Office Olympics!"

He proceeded to explain the rules. We would be broken up into teams, and would compete in various office-friendly sports each day, like magnetic darts, mini-basketball shooting, beanbag toss, etc. Points would be awarded, and at the end of the two-week competition, each member of the winning team would win a $25 gift card to Ruby Tuesday. (Quick sidenote: I get what they're trying to do here. They want to make us think they're a cool company and that this is a fun place to work. It might work for some people, but not surprisingly, not me. If they want me to think it's a cool company, let me work from home. If they want me to think it's a fun place to work, pay me more. I'll have a fucking blast.)

Anyway, after explaining how the competition would work, the VP opened up the floor for questions. Oh, how there were questions. For nearly twenty minutes, the douchebags of my department clearly identified themselves by asking question after question about the rules, sucking out whatever fun there was in this silly competition. Ridiculous scoring hypotheticals, tiebreaking procedures, rule definitions, we heard them all. The VP did not see it coming, but he should have. With each question, he looked flustered. If he didn't have a good answer, the idiots in my department would begin shouting out how they think the rule should work. You would have thought that their jobs were on the line, and not a free meal at an upscale burger joint.

Finally, mercifully, we moved on. They drew names out of a hat to pick teams. When all the names were chosen, the VP announced one final rule. "Since this is the Olympics, each team needs to pick a country to represent, so that we can have a leaderboard and update scores daily next to your flags." Naturually, this set off a frenzy.

Douchebag #1: I call Team USA.

Douchebag #2: No I want Team USA!

Douchebag #3: No, I am Team USA!

Douchebag #1: I called it first!

Douchebag #4: I was in the Air Force, I should be Team USA!

Douchebag #2: I am not playing if I can't be Team USA!

Douchebag #3: You drive a Japanese car, some American you are

Douchebag #2: I'm more American than you!

This devolved into a near shouting match as the douchebags argued over who got to be Team USA. I wish I had a picture of my face during this argument. I am sure it was priceless. Finally, after thirty seconds, the VP stepped in. "No one can be team USA!" I had a flashback to kindergarten, when a bunch of kids were fighting over the best toy and the teacher just took it away and said no one could have it. I had never been so ashamed to be a part of a group as I was at that moment.

Later in the day, I was in the breakroom with Douchebag #3. "So what country did you pick," he asked me.

"Switzerland," I told him.

"Why Switzerland?"

"Because I just want to stay out of it all. What country are you?"

"Well, we are Team Iraqi Freedom," he boasted.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, got a problem with that?"

"So, does that mean you're gonna play one game, declare victory, and then suffer losses the rest of the competition?" He didn't like that too much, and probably doesn't like me too much, either. Totally worth it, though.