It's a Dry Heat

Each June, my employer sends all of its employees to one of the hottest locations within driving distance for a week-long series of meetings. (By “hottest” I do not mean “coolest and hippest,” but “just this side of Hell”.) In any given year there are 800 to 1,000 of us gathered for the most pointless, long-winded sessions imaginable. But it’s not all bad. The meetings are held on a university campus, so we get to stay in old, smelly dorms with no air conditioning.

I get to see cherished colleagues there every year, and that almost makes the rest of the nonsense worth enduring. Of course, I always hunt down my best friends in the group to find the coldest beer in town.

My oldest friend there is a guy I first met in college. We played on the same intramural softball team and had lots of other common interests before we became colleagues. He was kind enough to rub in my face the fact that he plays on an adult baseball team once or twice a week. Bastard.

The good news is that I haven’t yet been purged from the company, and I still have a job. The bad news is that I’ll have to go to these meetings again next year.