The course is called Mandatory Leader Training Workshop.
I tried to wriggle out of it the day before but was told very bluntly by
HR: "Cannot Anthony - it's mandatory."
Fast forward to 8am at the Hanoi International.
I find my misspelt name on a card on a round table in the Ho Chi Minh conference room on the third floor.
It was 8.30am when our instructor introduces himself as Larry. He is a lovely American guy
who has worked in the company for 25 years and is from Rhode Island and is happy to be in Vietnam. His shoes are old and scuffed, a sure sign that we only use him for in-house courses these days.
Exercise 1: The ice breaker
The opening ice-breaker exercise was standard fare.
Larry: “Write down the name of a leader you admire, and which qualities ..."
[…]
Exercise 2: Team work
Larry asked us to stand in a circle and count from 1 to
18.
Odd numbers were sent to one side and evens on the other, forming 2 teams.
I was the only foreigner on Team B and felt like an enormous white blob as I stood there, towering over my peers.
Larry marched us to the back of the room and marshalled each team under a sheet of A4 paper that was hanging from the ceiling.
I noticed some ugly vertical blinds in a high window and wondered if their twin was
still hanging in my childhood bedroom.
This daydream was interrupted by my team poking me and handing me a
pen. "We write our names on the paper!" they said, pointing to the paper. I reached up and pulled it down from the ceiling in a single, fluid motion.
Larry groaned and my team's smiles turned into icy glares, shifting away from me as if I were riddled with Ebola.
Larry re-explains that we were supposed to keep the paper up
there and use team work to get each person to write their name.
The game was suspended as people glared at the foreigner who had ruined the game. Larry hunted for more A4, reholed it, restrung it and rehung it.
"Three ... two ... one ... go."
It was Team A vs Team B.
I quickly reach up and write my name in the top box, handing my pen
to the guy next to me. He couldn't reach and gave up immediately by handing it to a girl in jeans. She jumped up but couldn't quite manage it, either. The clock was against us.
I am so focused on the paper that I haven't noticed my team slowly gathering around me with hungry eyes, like cannibals at Christmas lunch.
Within seconds I am pushed onto all fours and my teammates startg climbing onto me in quick succession.
Arms and elbows press into my back and I groan as their palms pressed hard into my hips, no doubt for leverage as they carefully hoist up the more nervous teammates. I feel like a mistreated horse.
Our final competitor jumps onto me and I
feel a disc being slowly dislodged. By now they have forgotten that I am even an animal, much less human. I have become a fully functioning bridge.
Her
knees dig into my shoulder blades and the team bounce her off me to cheers and
high-fives.
Our team rushes to the front of the room with the paper, abandoning me on all fours without
explanation. I figure out what is happening and spring up as
quickly, lest they return to mount me for a victory
lap.
Exercise 3: Building Trust in the Workplace
After lunch we are divided into the same 2 teams and I listen carefully at the instructions (fool
me once).
2 tables at the back of the room are set up as makeshift cliffs. This is the one where you fall backwards and trust your team to catch you.
The 3 biggest westerners (me included) are singled out and told we were
not allowed to fully participate. One teammate points at me and cackles a helpful "We're not catching him! Not possible!" I looked down and mumble "I am not allowed to jump", like a pale child who is allergic to everything and carries a note from his parents.
So off we march to the tables.
Our team becomes a disorganised kerfuffle as we debate the safest way to catch someone. Most in our team are relatively small so it isn't going to be a huge
challenge and they volunteer me as the primary catcher.
One of the smallest guys in our group volunteers to go first. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nods his head sharply, like a nerd psyching himself up for a date with a whore. In the previous exercise he had been very nervous to climb onto Old Clover but now he is full of steam, obviously buoyed from this morning's victory.
We form a loose huddle and debate our process (palms up? wrist grabs? lattice?).
While we are talking we hear Team A's first member drop back into safe hands, to cheers and congratulations.
This added pressure helps us to agreed on our approach: palms up looked like the safest way.
Then it happens.
An audible brief WHOOSH. Then a THUD.
As we were debating our first jumper, oblivious to our planning process, was climbing onto the table and getting into position. I
imagine him biting his bottom lip as he psyched himself up. He must have been deep in his own head as he heard the hurrahs of the other team and decided that now was his time.
Our entire team had our backs to the cliff and no one broke his fall.
We turn around in shock. He looks up in shock as he lays on the ground, shaking, his arms still raised above his head in a show of trust.
As we help him up his legs give
way. we carry him out to the coffee break area and doctor is called.
About 10 minutes later a stunned Larry returns to the room and robotically launches into his wrap up.
Larry: "So. Umm. Team 1. Who went first in your team?"
-- "I did."
Larry: "How did you feel at that point, Minh?"
--"It felt fantastic actually."
Larry: "That's great. It really demonstrates the importance
of teaming and trust."
Larry, on autopilot: "And team 2? How did ... oh ... That's
right. Didn't go so well."
Lesson learned: Look before you leap.
