Lady in Red
I shudder at the thought of attending improv shows where people get picked out of the audience at random. I’m fine with public speaking as long as I know my topic, have ample opportunity to prepare, and there are no professional tricksters waiting to trip me up for the sake of getting a laugh.
I worked for a company that was split between Toronto and Sault Ste. Marie (the Soo) and a rivalry of sorts had developed between the two offices. The Soo fell victim to teasing about our Northern Ontario weather, our small-town quirks, and our isolated location. Despite our differences, most of us enjoyed mutual respect and strong working relationships. There was a period of time in our company’s history, though, when the differences came to a head. And not in favour of the north. During this time, I participated in my first company-wide off-site management conference, held in southern Ontario. The key-note speech included some direct jabs and sniggers aimed at the north and it created an undercurrent of divisiveness before the event even got underway.
Later in the day, I attended a trust-building session lead by a magician. It struck me as a contradiction in terms but I tried to keep an open mind. The magician, a slick and too cheerful type, chose one of our vice-presidents from the audience to come up to the stage. I’d worked with this VP and had great respect for him. He was an intelligent, no-nonsense man who didn’t deserve to be subjected to lame tricks. I had an instant dislike for the magician and willed him not to mess with my colleague.
“Would you have a $20 bill on you, sir?” the magician asked. The VP produced one and the magician said, “Wonderful. Would you initial it, please?” I could see where this was going. The money mysteriously disappeared. “Now, please choose a trustworthy person from the audience. This person will help you get your $20 back so choose well.”
I was sitting in the aisle seat about ten rows back and stared anywhere but the stage, in the hopes that if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me. It didn’t work. I heard my first name and even though I still wasn’t looking at the stage, I knew he meant me. With fear and anxiety in my soul and after determining I couldn’t escape through the nearest exit, I went up to the stage.
The still cheerful magician rubbed his hands together, relishing his new victim, and asked me to tell everyone my name. Then he asked where I was located. Still feeling the sting of the key-note, I didn’t hesitate to stand proud with my fellow northerners. I put my hands on my hips, looked straight into his gleaming, beady eyes, and in the steadiest voice I could muster, said, “Sault Ste. Marie,” enunciating every word as if it was a dare. There were a few hoots and chuckles from the crowd. My fellow northerners, no doubt. Mr. Smug Pants was oblivious and continued with his routine. I went along with all the slight of hand nonsense and succeeded in finding the VP’s $20. The session ended and I couldn’t get off the stage and out of the room fast enough.
People caught up with me in the hallway. “That was staged, right? You were amazing. Hands on hips and sticking up for the Soo like that? You should have seen the look you gave him.” I couldn’t believe my ears. Did I really put my hands on my hips? It was my signature childhood move but I had no recollection of doing it.
“Are you crazy?” I answered. “No, it wasn’t staged. There’s no way I would’ve agreed to be a magician’s puppet.” I wanted to forget the whole thing, slink back into the shadows, and try to get through the rest of the conference.
The following evening, the entire group dined together in a banquet room with a lovely view of the city. It was a welcome chance to wind down after a few long days of back-to-back sessions. During the meal, an annoying bright-eyed comedian welcomed us while he wandered around the room. With his chest puffed out, he announced himself as our evening entertainment. So much for unwinding. He slithered about, singling people out, and asking them questions while he twisted and wove their answers into his routine for maximum comedic impact. I focused on my meal, avoided eye contact, and looked for exits, just in case. Surely I’d paid my dues with the magician episode.
My choice of dress colour was my undoing. The comedian looked at our table and yelled from the other side of the room, “Lady in red!” I looked his way and froze. By the time he bounced over to the table, my face was the colour of my dress. He shoved the microphone in my face.
“Please stand up,” he said in a jovial tone as if he was doing me a favour. “Tell us your name.” At least he didn’t ask my location.
After I gave him my name and my best death glare, he continued with, “And what area do you work in?” I told him I worked in IT and willed him not to go any further. You know those dreams where you feel yourself falling and you have nothing to hang on to? That was the feeling I had. We’d just implemented a new organizational model with some non-traditional roles. I had one such role and was hoping he wouldn’t ask my title.
“And what do you do in IT?” he asked with exaggerated interest as he raised his eyebrows and swiveled his neck around to look at his audience. It was like he knew this was going to be good.
Once again, the exits were not an option. I took a steadying breath and answered, “I’m a Relationship Manager.” If he’d given me a minute, I would have explained I was a liaison between IT and Marketing, somewhat like an account manager. But it was too late and he wasted no time.
His eyes lit up and he writhed in what I was sure was an inappropriate manner as he exploded with glee. “Oh, so you’re the manager of the touchy-feely, kissy-huggy department. I see!”
The whole room erupted in laughter and by the time I realized they were laughing at me, he’d bounded along to his next victim. My table expressed sympathy while they chuckled but I’m sure they were glad it was me and not them.
I volunteered to be on the planning committee for the next conference. And planned to be much too busy handing out name tags and tidying up conference packages to attend sessions fraught with risk.
And it was the last time I wore red to one of those things.
