The Pyramid of Empty Calories
The corporate retreat brochure promised transformative experiences. What it delivered was a pyramid scheme of emotional exhaustion disguised as team building.
Elena stood at the edge of the hotel pool at midnight, her hair slicked back from the day's workshops, watching the water reflect the distant lights of Phoenix. She'd skipped the mandatory networking dinner for something she actually needed: a handful of vitamin D supplements she'd brought from home, because her doctor said her levels were catastrophically low. Everything about her was catastrophically low lately.
"You're missing the karaoke contest," Mark's voice came from behind her. "Third place gets a gift card to Starbucks."
She turned. He held a plastic cup, his tie loosened, that exhausted charm still intact after fifteen years of marriage that had somehow become parallel lines running alongside each other without intersecting.
"I'm replenishing my will to live," she said, swallowing another pill.
Mark laughed, but his eyes didn't crinkle the way they used to. "Janet from Accounting said something interesting today. About how you never eat lunch with anyone anymore."
"I eat with you. At home."
"After work. Different thing."
They stood in silence until he said, "Remember that dinner party last month? When David made that spinach salad everyone pretended to like?"
"It was raw."
"Exactly. But we all ate it. Because that's what you do when you're part of something."
She looked at the pool again. The water seemed enormous, impossible. "I'm not sure I am anymore. Part of something."
Mark set his cup down. "The vitamins aren't working, El."
"I know."
"Want to go find somewhere that serves actual food?"
She took his hand. "Only if we never mention the team-building pyramid exercise again."
"Deal."
They walked toward the hotel lights, leaving the water behind them, leaving the pyramids and vitamins and performance expectations for tomorrow. For tonight, there was just warmth, and hunger, and the possibility of something real.