I find my name, misspelt, on a card on a round table in the Ho Chi Minh Conference Room on the third floor of the Hanoi International Hotel.
It is 8.00am and the course is called Mandatory Leader Training Workshop. I tried to wriggle out of it yesterday but was told by HR: "Cannot Anthony - it's mandatory."
At 8.30am our instructor arrives and introduces himself as Larry. He is a lovely guy
from Rhode Island who has worked in the company for 25 years and is happy to be in Vietnam. His shoes are old and scuffed and I suspect we only use him for in-house courses these days.
Exercise 1: ice breaker
Our first exercise is predictable.
“Write down the name of a leader you admire, and which qualities ..."
We share our results and Larry is way too enthusiastic.
[…]
Exercise 2: teamwork
We stand in a circle and count from 1 to
18.
Two teams are formed by sending the odd numbers to one side and the evens to the other.
I am the only foreigner on Team B, an enormous white blob towering over my peers.
Larry marches us to the back of the room and marshals each team under a sheet of A4 paper that is hanging from the ceiling.
The ugly vertical blinds in the windows remind me of my childhood bedroom and I start to daydream.
My team pokes me awake and hands me a
pen. "We have to write our names on the paper!" they say, pointing to the paper. I reach up and pull it down from the ceiling so we can write on it.
My team's smiles turn to icy glares and they back away from me like a skunk in a lift. Larry looks over and groans.
Larry re-explains that we were supposed to keep the paper up
there and use teamwork for each person to write their name.
The game is suspended and people glare at the foreigner who ruined the game. Larry hunts for more A4 paper, reholes it, restrings it and rehangs it.
"Three ... two ... one ... go."
It is Team A vs Team B.
I rise onto my toes, write my name in the top box and hand my pen
to the guy next to me. He can't reach and gives up immediately, handing it to a girl in jeans. She jumps up but can't quite manage it either. The clock is against us.
I am so focused on the A4 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 start climbing onto me in quick succession.
Arms and elbows press into my back and I groan as their palms press hard into my hips. The more nervous climbers are hoisted up by their teammates and dropped onto my back. I feel like a mistreated horse.
By the time our final competitor jumps onto me, I have become a fully functioning bridge.
By the time our final competitor jumps onto me, I have become a fully functioning bridge.
She positions her toes en pointe as she stretches to write her name and I feel a disc dislodge as she bounces off me to cheers and high-fives.
Our team rushes to Larry with the paper, abandoning me on all fours. I spring up quickly as he announces our victory, lest they return to mount me for a victory
lap.
Exercise 3: building trust
After lunch we are divided into the same teams. This time I listen carefully to the instructions.
This is the one where you fall backwards and trust your team to catch you.
Two tables at the back of the room will serve as makeshift cliffs.
The three white people are singled out and told we are not allowed to jump. One teammate points at me and cackles a helpful "We're not catching him! Not possible!" as I look down and mumble "I am not allowed to jump", like a pale child with a note from his parents saying he is allergic to everything.
Larry blows on a cheap plastic whistle and we march to the tables.
Most of our team are relatively small so it isn't going to be a huge challenge.
One of the shorter guys offers to go first, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he 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 the old white mare but now he is at full steam, likely buoyed by this morning's victory. He climbs onto the table and gets into position as we decide our process.
They volunteer me as the primary catcher and we form a huddle, a disorganised kerfuffle, to debate the safest way to catch someone (palms up? wrist grabs? lattice?).
While we are talking, we hear Team A's first jumper drop back into safe hands, to cheers and congratulations. This added pressure pushes us to agree on an approach: palms up seems safer.
Then it happens.
A brief WHOOSH. Then a THUD.
No one breaks his fall.
He must have been deep in his prep as he heard the cheers of Team A. I imagine him biting his bottom lip as he psyched himself up: it's now or never.
We look down at him, horrified to see him on the ground shaking. He looks back at us in shock and his arms are still raised above his head.
We start to help him up but his legs give
way, so we carry him (palms up) to the lobby area as a 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 A. 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: "And Team B? How did ... oh ... That's
right. Didn't go so well."
Insights gained: Look before you leap.
