Here is a fun fact about fun: it can be genuinely terrifying. Especially if you’re neurodiverse.
The build-up, expectation and unspoken pressure to “enjoy the fun” is excruciating. Sometimes the “opt-out” button is our best friend. It’s nothing personal; it’s just how our brains are wired. And it’s not just work events either. That same wiring means you sometimes miss out on other good stuff. When a close friend got engaged, my brain started to catastrophise about having to attend the impending nuptials. But I needn’t have worried. We went for lunch where she actively “dis-invited” me to her wedding. The mark of a true friend. Yup, she’s a keeper.
This brings me on to the subject of socialising at work. Every workplace likes a bit of “organised fun”. It gets people mixing, builds team spirit, and makes Monday mornings marginally less agonising. Can’t say I disagree with the theory to be honest. It’s just that I’d rather cut off my head and fry it in garlic than have to attend. Over the years I have developed a bespoke and highly honed “organised fun” avoidance system – it’s called running away. Guaranteed 90% success rate, (depending on what shoes I’m wearing on the day).
But some people aren’t so lucky…
It was during the first lockdown. You remember that strange time? We were all slowly going feral in our kitchens. Watching Season 1 of Bridgerton, and the only thing that was having a good time was the ozone layer? In the corporate world, managers, bless them, were wracking their brains thinking of ideas to hold teams of people together. And coming up with some seriously random shizzle. My mate Sutts told me a true story about something that happened in her previous job. It worked like this:
1. Friday afternoon.
2. Entire company on mandatory Zoom call.
3. Cameras firmly on to validate participants’ location (i.e. not in pub).
4. A “volunteer” (or victim, depending on your POV) from each team would then perform a party piece. Magic tricks. Impressions. Gargling the National Anthem. Whatever.
I know. Genius, right?
Er no. Seriously disingenuous. We can’t all be natural performers. Some of us are perfectly happy being the audience. Some of us are, in fact, outstanding at being the audience. With excellent clapping skills.
A young man, highly diligent and great at his job, was filled with abject dread as he waited several weeks for his inevitable “turn”. After many sleepless nights and a range of discarded ideas, he came up with a bold and daring plan: He would study the Scoville scale to find the hottest chilli in the UK, and eat it, live on camera.
The Friday arrived; the scene was set. Sutts (ex-army, good at sensing danger) pinged over a quick DM:
“Mate, do you really think this is a good idea?”
After a long pause, he replied:
“…tell my wife I love her. Also, I may need a lift to A&E around 3pm”
There was no turning back. He ate the chilli and that’s when it all kicked off.
The sweating.
The coughing.
The noises of a man who has realised, too late, that he has made a catastrophic miscalculation.
The rest of the company watched on in horror. His camera suddenly went off and somewhere in the background, a fridge door could be heard opening, and slamming off its hinges
“He’s gone for the yoghurt,” muttered Sutts to nobody in particular, before remembering she wasn’t on mute.
Seconds later the @rse covering messages from the boss started:
“Why is his camera off?”
“Did you make him do that?”
“I think we need to take this off-line”
Ah yes. Fun-Time-Friday. Bringing people together since 2020.
It’s now 2026. Where are they now? Well, after extensive therapy, “the Chilli Guy” has put this all behind him. Sutts technically remains a person of interest in a condiment-related HR investigation. And the chilli? The chilli is doing just fine. It has no regrets. Chillies seldom do.
Leave me a comment