Kicking stress out with bonbon action

If you've always wanted to show the nuances of your bonbons to your bosses under controlled lighting, man, do I have a story for you.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the corporate world, at least the one I'm familiar with, people spend about half their daily productive hours, a total of 14 minutes, developing 'catch phrases.' For those of you who are unfamiliar with these, let me get you up to speed. Let's have a crack (ha ha!) at consolidation.

This is a strangely mutated term that employees have coughed up to mean “I'm busy with my 17th cigarette in 12 minutes so buzz off.” I'm sure you've encountered this term. Managers would linger around an employee who's been licking his fingernails to see what'd happen to it when enzymes meant to break down minerals seep in. Asked what possible good that could possibly do the company, he'd say “I'm still consolidating material for the management,” or “I'm consolidating the program specs.” Of course, more often than not, what it looks like he's doing is sharing intimate confidences with other people consolidating stuff about his bowel movements. Also, a tremendous amount of consolidation seems to happen in cafes.

But the point is, catch phrases like consolidate are the backbone of the corporate world. Bottom (ha ha!) line, 83.72 percent of employees would be fired for days when they're not doing anything more productive than writing blogs about their bonbons getting exposed under strangely hypnotic lighting. The global economy would collapse.

The catch phrase that led to my demise is 'team building.' This is a corporate activity where, to strengthen the bond between employees in various departments, they enjoy a richly bond-forming experience in places that prohibit all forms of conversation, and some forms of sign language, like animal show stadiums.

But I was in charge of this team building activity, and I promised I wouldn't let it go south. (ha ha!) So not only did I plan a richly bond-forming activity where conversation is banned, I planned it in such a way that we'd all get something out of it.

I made spa reservations.

Now, if you know a thing or two about spas – and the moron that I am, I didn't – you'd know that before you try a massage, you should ask questions. I've consolidated a list.

1.)Is there a part of the routine that requires them to expose your bonbons in a room where your bosses are present?
2.)Is there any chance that they'd ask you, “Hey, your assets are about to be revealed, in strangely undignified lighting I might add, and there are others present in the room, do you have any objections?”
3.)Is there any chance that the others not see your what had just been exposed, if you heard someone snickering?

So there. As the incense burned its way into my lungs, and various parts of my pancreas, and the TV light teamed up with various parts of the dim rooms to create funny looking shadows, the type you see in alleys right before someone stabs you, and a person who can put 400 pounds of pressure on two fingertips tried her best to make me scream like a girl, ('Does this hurt?' “No.” 'How 'bout now?') I wondered just how relaxed I was supposed to get as my rear became fair game.

One minute she’s applying pressure that would make CIA agents crack(ha ha!) on your lower back, the next second – swish-- bonbon action time. Somebody chuckles. Very relaxing. Though really, between stress derived from 72 hours of work without stopping for bathroom breaks and relaxation derived from a near-death, bonbon-exposing experience, it's a really tough call.

Still, the next day, I regained control over parts of me I forgot existed, like shoulders. Heck, the company even spent so I could have a perfectly legitimate excuse not to take a bath the next day. My bonbon is still consolidating its plans for vengeance.