I know, I know, it’s too bad I couldn’t go – it just turned out I had better things to do…
KIDDING, obviously. I had to work.
Upper management was out this week (from our main office in Ohio), and whenever they visit we like to do something fun for “team building” and “company commaraderie”.
Ahem, and for an excuse to get out of the office.
After tossing around a few ideas – Disneyland, Dodgers Game, Car Drifting Lessons (HR probably wouldn’t have bought into that one) I somewhat jokingly said,
“What about Deep Sea Fishing?”
So, we went fishin’. When I asked pro fisherwoman SR for tips in hopes that my stellar angling skills would earn me a raise or some brownie points, she shared this little bit of insider info :
“Don’t hook anybody else on the boat. They don’t really like that.”
Honestly, we had no idea what we were getting into. We figured we’d have servants baiting our lines and reeling in our catchings for us. And then we’d stuff them, and hang them around the office, and brag to visitors about ‘that time I wrestled a big kahuna for hours and look, now it’s hanging on our wall. Let’s do business.’
TRUTH : Turns out you catch & hook your own bait, reel in your own catch, and nobody fans you off with giant palm leaf OR serves you drinks out of coconuts while you do so.
Oh and there were no sharks. So our office walls are bare. Unless we go buy one of these guys :
But really it was fun. I was super creeped out by the tank of live anchovies we used as bait – and the fact that you had to reach in with your BARE HAND to catch them, and stick the hook through their poor little head while they were still alive, though.
After playing the “gross but I’m a GIRL and who can hold my purse?” card and making the men bait for me the first few times, I finally dug out some balls and did it myself.
Yeah it was gross, and yeah they’re slippery and I dropped a few, and yeah I apologized to them while performing the slow and painful death-by-sharp-object-through-your-f’ing-mouth routine…
But, you know what they say about those darned hillbilly roots – give them an inch and they’ll take an acre. After a while I was hooking bait, catching fish, and covered in scales & blood like a real champ.
I told everyone that’d listen that “my Corntown friends are going to be so impressed!”
And in case you are having that feeling of “I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU ANYMORE, OUaL!”, let me share what I had for lunch on the boat :
(countdown to new sign-off name : 10 days.)