Cultural Comparasons Part 2

9 February, 2007 Friday

The following story illustrates a fundamental difference in attitude between the U.S. and Australia:

Kevin’s company hosted a kick-off event to celebrate the opening of the Sydney office. Every consultant in Australia - from Perth, Brisbane, Melbourne, and Adelaide (and a few higher-ups from New Zealand) was flown to town and put up in a hotel for a few days of team building, which consisted mostly of painful and boring Power Point presentations selling the company to its own employees. Afterward, the 30+ employees were loaded into cabs and shuttled to the King Street Wharf, a bustling waterfront collection of bars and fine restaurants, for dinner and drinks. Being a recent arrival, and the only child-less spouse sitting home alone, I was encouraged – nay commanded, to join them after dinner. Cab rides home were fully expensed.

With the embarrassing memories of numerous other employer-sponsored alcohol related events fresh in his mind, and valuing this job as he does, Kevin swore he was going to remain sober. He’d have one or two glasses of wine with dinner, but stay in control, sharp, responsible. Alas, it was not to be.

Kevin was placed under strict orders by his office manager. Under NO circumstances were members of any office other than New South Wales allowed to be the “last men standing” at a bar, especially that Scotsman from Queensland. It was a matter of regional pride. At least one member of the Sydney office must out drink the rest of the company. Although he had full confidence in his ability, Kevin shivered with clairvoyant dread at the thought of its execution.

“They made me do shots of Tequila!” he slobbered upon my arrival at 9:30. I winced as tray after tray filled with shot glasses were passed around the table. I feigned polite resistance, but was soon goaded into compliance by the insistent chants of the drunken mob. Then another tray of shots arrived. Then another, then a tray of long-island iced teas was delivered and passed around. Then another tray of shots before the disorganized gang adjourned to another bar, commencing the phenomenon known by experienced drinkers as “time travel”.

The memory tapes began rolling at the next bar at the unfortunate moment when Kevin and several of his co-workers were being escorted to the sidewalk by the bouncers, really for no other reason than being over 30 and having a penis. He tried to politely explain that his wife was still inside the bar, that he wasn’t some horny old man prowling for young girls (though I am certain those were not his exact words.) The bouncer was immovable, and in an act of sheer frustration, Kevin performed a ridiculous looking dance that can only be described as ape-like, thus rousing the bouncer to radio his comrades for back-up. I watched in surreal fascination as the rest of his co-workers burst into hysterical laughter behind him, then decided to go to his rescue.

Later, in yet another bar, I spoke with the Scottish manager, relaying Kevin’s fears of humiliation and retribution, telling him of my own recent debacle. “Ach, it was an American company, was it? Bloody uptight Americans.” He assured me that Kevin’s behavior was by no means grounds for dismissal and that his success had far more to do with how well he took the inevitable ribbing he was sure to get, not only next week, but for the rest of his career with the company. “You can bet come Munday, there’ll be a dancin’ monkey with boxing gloves on ‘is desk.” He then told me stories of other managers in previous years who had fallen off of tables while giving speeches.

We woke up at noon on Saturday with the unavoidable shame-over, a phrase we have coined to describe the unique features of a tequila-induced hangover. We filled in the gaps in each other’s memory banks. I assured him that his office manager was far more drunk and obnoxious than he had been. He still thinks I made up the part about the monkey-dance, but the good news is, we did indeed shut down the last bar, the folks from Queensland having left long before us.

Maybe, just maybe, Kevin is management material after all...