My Boss Forced Us Into A Bizarre Cultural Trivia Night — And The Stakes Were Shockingly Real
Part 1
My manager locked the conference room doors from the inside.
The heavy metal deadbolt echoed ominously through the silent office space.
Craig stood at the head of the long mahogany table with a maniacal grin.
He wore a brightly colored yellow shirt plastered with neon green kangaroos.
He slapped a dangerously thick stack of laminated index cards onto the polished wood.
Our entire company was opening a massive new branch in the heart of the coastal city.
I needed that international transfer more than I needed oxygen in my lungs.
My career had been hopelessly stalled in middle management for three grueling years.
Megan sat on my left, driving the metal tip of her designer fountain pen into the notepad with rapid strikes.
She had been gunning for the coastal city director role since the rumors first started.
Brian sat on my right, wiping a steady stream of sweat from his pale forehead with a crumpled tissue.
He had literally brought a printed encyclopedia of oceanography just in case it came up.
Buster, Craig’s massive overweight golden retriever, snored loudly under the whiteboards.
Craig aimed a glowing red laser pointer directly at the center of my chest.
Standard corporate interviews, according to him, were for cowards.
Survival in the unforgiving local market required the thick skin of a true local.
This bizarre gathering would serve as our ultimate cultural citizenship test.
The undisputed winner would get a first-class, one-way ticket and the promotion of a lifetime.
The miserable losers would stay behind in our depressing, windowless basement office.
I adjusted my stiff collar against the stifling, unbearable heat of the room.
Craig had intentionally cranked the thermostat to eighty-five degrees to simulate the outback.
He clicked to the very first slide on the dusty, incredibly loud overhead projector.
A crude, hand-drawn picture of a frustrated man appeared on the bright screen.
Craig demanded to know the exact cultural definition of a ‘buff head’.
My mind desperately raced through every useless corporate buzzword I had ever learned.
The bizarre phrase sounded like complete and utter nonsense to my mainland ears.
Megan aggressively buzzed in by violently slamming her open palm on the table.
She confidently stated it was a high-performance athlete who frequented the corporate gym.
Craig laughed so aggressively hard he nearly choked on his own saliva.
He swung the little red laser pointer back to my trembling, sweaty hands.
I swallowed hard and quietly ventured a pathetic guess about a dummy or a fool.
Craig brought both of his heavy fists down hard onto the sturdy wooden table.
The impact rattled the projector cart as he pointed a shaking finger of confirmation at my chest.
Megan crossed her arms and scowled so hard her expensive foundation actually cracked.
Brian frantically scribbled my exact answer onto his yellow legal pad for future reference.
Craig gleefully flipped to the next heavily pixelated slide in his chaotic presentation.
He loudly asked the three of us to clearly define the term ‘sticky beak’.
Brian leaned forward and confidently stated it meant someone incredibly nosy and intrusive.
Craig reached under the table and dramatically pulled out a crinkled, greasy paper bag.
He wildly tossed a piece of cheap white bread directly at Brian’s unsuspecting face.
The soft bread was slathered in thick, room-temperature butter and covered in colorful rainbow sprinkles.
It smacked Brian right in the center of his glasses and landed softly on his notepad.
Craig called the bizarre concoction fairy bread and strictly ordered him to eat his prize.
Brian gingerly took a tiny, terrified bite while maintaining terrifying, unbroken eye contact with our boss.
The trivia questions grew increasingly unhinged and chaotic as the long hour dragged on.
We had to quickly identify madame Hilda, the greatest fictional export played by the legendary comedian Arthur.
Brian somehow knew the exact television broadcast dates of Arthur’s entire eccentric career.
I gripped the sharp edges of the mahogany table until my knuckles turned bright, painful white.
The massive promotion was slowly slipping through my incredibly sweaty, desperate fingers.
Megan was also failing miserably, furiously muttering vicious corporate curses under her breath.
Craig wiped a theatrical tear of joy from his eye and proudly brought up the next slide.
It was a grainy, depressing black-and-white photograph of a very stern-looking older man.
Craig solemnly explained this was mayor Harrison, a deeply beloved historical figure from decades past.
He told us the unfortunate man had mysteriously vanished without a trace while swimming in the ocean.
He demanded to know what public monument the local government built to honor the drowned mayor.
I stared blindly at the bright projector screen in absolute, stunned disbelief.
Megan confidently suggested they built a beautiful, serene coastal memorial garden by the cliffs.
Brian intelligently theorized it was a towering lighthouse to safely guide lost sailors back home.
Craig vigorously shook his head and looked directly at me with wild, wildly expectant eyes.
I threw out a wildly sarcastic, incredibly morbid guess about them building a public swimming pool.
The stifling hot room instantly fell into entirely dead, heavy silence.
Even Buster mysteriously stopped snoring under the whiteboard at the exact same moment.
Craig slowly lowered his red laser pointer until it hit the carpeted floor.
He stared at me with an utterly unreadable, intensely focused expression.
He took a slow, deliberate step toward me.
