A Company Picnic

Staring at the laptop screen perched precariously on two old books on the folding table, Otis wonders if his co-workers even know he exists as a human. He could be replaced by a bot, an artificial intelligence computer program to fill out spreadsheets and submit reports; what is real anyway?  The tiles of their faces and names on the screen blur together; after a year plus of video calls, he and most of the accounting team leave the cameras off.  He thinks about tomorrow, and anxiety crawls over his scalp and down his neck in cold shoots of fear. His boss is bad enough on video meetings, how is going to be when he sees Otis in person? His chest tightens, and breath constricts.

“Ok, that's it. Get those TPS reports, with cover sheets, in by the end of day, and then I’ll see you all at the park Saturday for the company picnic.  I'm bringing extra burgers for you El Gordo!-” erupted from the speaker before Otis quickly logs off.  The sudden quiet allows the emptiness to fill the room again. Breaking the thick silence, the bed under him creaks as he unfurls his large frame from the hunched over position he has been in all day. Slamming the laptop closed where Mike’s face was doesn’t work.  Neither does eating several of yesterday's lemon cupcakes to bury his disgust at himself for allowing his boss to insult him.   He logs onto Fortnite to play a few games.  Four hours, and the entirety of a frozen pizza later, he throws the controller on the floor and leans back in his bed.  Having not  been outside for more than a week, the walls, the ceiling, even the specific cracks in the closet door are his companions. In the dark nights though, they fade and the room turns into something else, shrinking into a claustrophobic box.  So used to living through a flat two dimensional screen, he doesn't know if he can interact in three dimensions. But, he needs to meet people for real, he can not live like this anymore, knowing no one, having no friends; maybe tomorrow he can make a start. He closes his eyes and hopes. 

“OK Dave, today’s the day.” Otis says to the poster of the Foo Fighters across from him in the tiny room.  Dave Grohl, in mid-drum stroke, as usual doesn't care.  Through the detritus of his room, he has to pick through piles of sweatpants and t-shirts to find a  pair of athletic shoes and socks and, as all his pre-pandemic clothes don't fit, he turns to the outfit ordered for just this occasion, hanging in the closet waiting for this opportunity.  

Whatever Otis thought of ‘grown up work’, back in college, this is not it. His job was going to be in a high rise office building, with cubicles, martini lunches, and discussions of office romances at the water cooler in the break room. He would wear tailored suits, and then after work, attend happy-hours with other young urban professionals. Rising through the ranks to the corner office with a secretary, and important meetings he would arrive late for, clients waiting expectantly for him.  Instead he is sitting for hour upon hour in his bedroom by himself in pajamas. Otis has breakfast, lunch and dinner over a screen. A good day is when one of his favorite Door-Dash’ers is working, Raul or Big John, and they stop to chat. They always have good stories about their customers.  Otis shudders to think what they say about him.  

The pandemic shutdown would not last more than a month, or two, he thought last year when he moved across the country to this small apartment site unseen.  Then it didn’t end, and the  small room encompassed his small life, hour after hour of video calls and spreadsheets, followed by hour after hour of video games and movies.  All of his life he has been an outcast, feeling like he didn’t belong, now he is desperate for connection, finally stronger than his fear of rejection. He is going to try to find a friend among his co-workers, even if he has not been successful so far, even though they are challenging to work with.   Bill, who only talks about himself, Jerry who ridicules everyone, or Mike, his boss, who never misses a chance to insult him, and demands reports he never looks at and holds meetings to hear himself talk.   

Otis masks up before he gets in the Uber to the company picnic, and is dropped at the far corner of the park.  A cold overcast day, the air muggy and thick with humidity, he questions this whole idea of being outside, maybe he should just go back home. He walks up to the entrance, stops to get his bearings, and catch his breath from the walk. His company decided that a picnic on Earth Day is the best way to come out of the year long pandemic shutdown, and from the crowds at the park, many other people did as well.  Groups of people are gathered at all the picnic areas. An older woman has a blurred handwritten name tag that reads,  ‘Car---/ HR’ stands near, outside the bathrooms smoking. She has several volleyballs in a mesh bag. Recognizing the name, Otis goes to introduce himself.

“Hey Carol, I’m Otis- you hired me! I recognize your name!” He points at her name tag.  I'm here for the company Earth Day picnic?”

She looks Otis over, and says “I don’t remember hiring-”

“-Is that a volleyball?" he interrupts, "I used to play, in high school,” he stops, self-conscious, what he looks like now does not reflect any athletic ability.  

“-what department?” She asks. 

“Department? Oh, I'm in accounting, I work with Mike.”

“Mike? Hmm - there are not that many from the Finance team here today. You used to play? We need players, do you want to play on the HR team for the tournament?”

“I didn't know there would be a volleyball tournament!” Otis says. 

She points over to her left.  Otis looks over at the picnic table, a large group of people are mingling under  balloons and near brightly colored tables piled high with food, a volleyball net set up behind them.  I thought we were supposed to meet in the parking lot?” 

“Nope we are over there, go on ahead, remember you are on the HR team today- with Carrie!”

As he is walking over the vibrant green grass field his old worry about being seen eating in public comes out, but he pushes it down, just one plate.  He met someone, and it went well!  Did she say Carrie?

Ham and cheese sandwich, chips and a couple of pickles balanced precariously on a paper plate, Otis walks over to two women and a man, all masked, working on a narrow tower of oversized blocks, stacked four feet high on a table. 

“We’re taking turns, you want to try? You take a block from below and add it on top.” One of the women says to Otis. Still holding his sandwich with one hand, he taps a block loose with the other and places it on top.  

“You’re good at this!  The younger of the two women says.

“Well, I could see that block was loose, from the side." Otis says. "That one too-“

“Don’t tell! “ She interrupts. She has long black hair, and above her mask her dark brown bright eyes crinkle with smile lines.   She points at her name tag, ‘Sara/ Sales Team’, it reads.

“Otis, from accounting.  I need a name tag I guess. I just spoke with Carol, or Carrie?  Who said I was on her volleyball team.”

“Yes, Carrie, she is the best, such a recruiter for the company, and for volleyball!”  She laughs. “You must be a pandemic hire, we haven’t met. How do you like accounting?”

“Oh I hate my job, it's terrible!”  Otis says straight faced.

Sara physically reacts, pulling back, “What, you’re serious!  Why?”

“Well, doesn't everybody?”

“Oh, no, I love working here- what do you find terrible? “

“Well my boss is a jerk, and I am on zoom calls all day, the accounting software is useless, and, ugh, spreadsheets!”  

Sara puts her hand on Otis's arm, “you poor thing, I'm sorry for you.”

Otis flinches at her touch, and looks down at her hand. “Sorry," Otis says, “I’m just not used to being touched, it's been so long.”

“I know right! I haven't really either,” she pulls her hand back and looks at Otis, ”so what do you do for fun?”

“I pretty much stay in the house, I watch movies and video games. He pauses, “I really like the Great British Baking Show.”  He glances over expecting to be laughed at.  

“I love to bake!” Sara’s whole body shifts forward,  energized in excitement. “Do you bake? What is your favorite recipe?”

This woman Sara caught him off guard, and now he has to talk about what he is ashamed of. Struggled with his weight his whole life, then, over a year indoors with the only thing to do but eat, he exploded, adding close to 100 pounds to an already large frame. Growing up chunky he knew he had to do certain things, like wear XXL shirts, don't talk about food too much, and watch out for skinny, siz-est people.  And especially don't talk about his favorite hobby, baking. The jokes usually come fast and furious.   How would she, or anyone see him, past his image. Owen wants someone, anyone to know him for more than just the work he does or how he talks in meetings. He looks over at Sara, can he trust this woman he just met?

 “I do, and cakes. I love decorating cakes, muffins too, scones, or really anything. I only wish I had someone to help eat them!  What about you?”

“Oh I make sourdough, of course, right!  Though tarts and pies are my favorite.” 

Sara leans over to whisper, ”Can I trust you?  Don’t tell my boss, I want to quit and start my own bakery, but I am scared of the business side, I just want to bake.”

Otis’ eyes light up, “I love that idea! To bake all day, and just be creative, wedding cakes and cakes for special occasions, and-”

“You're a want-to-be baker too!” Sara touches his arm again, and Otis lets her.

He laughs, and the tension he forgot he had in his shoulders releases. “Yes, but I'm not that good of a baker. I can help you with the business side though,  I do financial reports all day long, can whip up a pro-forma, cash flow analysis, a P&L, you name it, faster than you could… bake a cake!”

“Be careful, I might take you up on that. If you had a bakery what would you call it?” Sara asks.

The first name that pops in his head,  El Gordo Bakery, he doesn't say out loud.  

Otis recognized several people from his team, though with their masks on, unless he got close he couldn't really tell, and he did all he could not to get close.  He found new friends on the HR team, as well as Sara and he stayed with them through the picnic, and the volleyball tournament.  Carrie was right, there was not an finance team, and his boss Mike was nowhere to be seen.

On that day, the clouds clearing, and a sparkling blue sky opening up, Otis, for the first time in his life, was celebrated for his athletic skills.  His body still remembered the old volleyball moves, better than most who played. The small grass court meant he didn't have to move much, just use his long arms to reach out. The HR team won their games into the finals, with chants of ‘Otis!, Otis!’ ringing out whenever he was up to serve, or scored a point for their team. 

During the final game it was close, but the HR team was about to close out the win when an errant hit sent the ball flying down a small hill.  Otis, energized, offered to go get it.  Jogging, slowly, he followed the ball into another picnic area, where through a quirk of sun or landscaping, the grass was faded and brown. Collecting the ball, he turned when he heard his name called, the malevolent energy in the voice, prickled the hairs on the back of his neck. Though shorter than he imagined, the familiar bullet-shaped bald head and thick neck could only be one person.  Mike stands near a smoking BBQ grill, holding his beer like a weapon, pointing it at Otis.  At the tables next to him are several people, none of them wearing masks, staring expressionless at Otis.

‘Hey, Mike.”  Otis squeezes the ball in his hands, joy crashing, fear and anxiety rising up inside of him to fill its place. Otis feels Mike’s eyes on his sweaty shirt, sticking to his fat grotesque body.   

‘Good to meet you in person. What are you doing over here, the picnic is back there-” Otis glances from where he came. 

“-Otis in the flesh!” Mike says.  “Damn, you are way bigger than I expected!” Grinning, he takes a drink of his beer.  “ Bill, hey Bill!  Take a look at who rolled up- El Gordo! “

As Otis looks at the people sitting at the tables, he recognizes faces from zoom meetings. This is his company’s picnic, of course, he knew something was off, his company would not spend money on elaborate food or do something like a volleyball game.  Somehow, he ended up in an upside down world where he found a company picnic, an exact opposite of his own. He had chosen to not see it, to have better co-workers, just for an afternoon.

“Where have you been? I saved a few burgers for you!”  Mike says, and then his tone changes to the demanding voice Otis hears in his nightmares. 

“And, put that ball down. Come take over this BBQ.  I had to make Mark do it, because you weren't here.”  

A kicked dog would not look as needy as Mark does, shyly looking out, and offering the tongs.

Otis looks around at the tired, depressed eyes of his co-workers, and realizes they have no hope, they know nothing but this noxious environment. This is what he has to go back to.  His anxiety creeps up from his legs and paralyzes him and he can’t breath. The shame he feels every day rolls his stomach. He can no longer live like that.

An idea pops in his head, an alternative, a new way of living,  using his strengths. He can almost smell the sweet odor of caramelized sugar. He has a choice.

“Hey Mike, I'm logging off, you and this company. I quit!”

Otis runs back to the volleyball game and shouts “Time out!”

The team gathers together, “Uh Carrie, I don’t actually work here-” Otis says.

“Of course you don't!” Carrie laughed, “We figured that out a while ago, but everyone likes you!” 

“And Sarah, are you serious about the... your idea? Because, I just quit my job, and am looking for a new opportunity-”

Her eyes go wide- “Yes!?  Let's talk next week”

“Great- Now, let's win this game!”  Otis says.  

“On three-”, the teammates put their hands together, “1,2,3, - People Power!” They all yell, together. 

Mike’s up to serve.  He looks around at the park, and how the day has turned out. He lofts the ball in the air for an overhand serve-

What a day!