When You Know You're Getting Whacked, Part 2

In a recent blog I recalled a work situation years ago when my team and I knew we were getting laid off well ahead of time. Well, not all of would get laid off (plot twist!), but pretty much all of us knew we'd leave the company one way or another when the ax fell.

What, Me Worry?

"Aren't you worried?" my friends and relatives asked. I really wasn't. A big part of it was certainty vs. uncertainty. Many in the company were worried, because they didn't know what would happen to their jobs. But for me and my colleagues, we knew. And thus we could plan.

Another part of it was the situation didn't totally suck. The job market was strong, and we were all young enough in our careers that we hadn't become Company Men/Company Women who could no longer imagine— or, in some cases, qualify— for comparable jobs anywhere else. Don't get me wrong; staying at the company would've been our first choice. Staying at the company with an intact team and project, that is. But that option was already off the table. Senior management had already decided to cancel our project and dismiss at least half the team. So we started looking for our next gigs. And slacking.

Like an In-Office Vacation

We went into "marking time" mode for the next 5 weeks. My colleagues would drift in a bit after 9am, we'd take lunch together at 11:30, then a leisurely team coffee break for at least 45 minute in the afternoon, and we'd all leave a bit after 5. I was generally in at 8am, but I routinely spent the first hour or so surfing the web until my colleagues arrived.

In between all this we were still working, but barely. Email, we'd answer promptly, but little else had a sense of urgency. Mixed in with work we polished our resumes and reviewed them with each other, searched job boards, and did phone interviews in our offices. Oh, we still did work; we just didn't do it fast. Our work output slowed to about 1/3 normal.

One eerie thing— to me, anyway, as this was early in my career— was that our work slowed down for over a month, and nobody higher up cared. They all either a) knew that we were getting whacked and thus didn't care we were slacking, or b) were too worried about their own jobs and those of their favorites (many of them were Company Men/Women terrified by the prospect of having to find work anywhere else) to care about us. Or c) both. Yay, the reality of Corporate America.

Next up: Stacking the Tea Leaves

D&D: New Rules, New Players, Same Old Problems

Hawk and I have recently started branching out in D&D. We've both been playing the game for decades. In recent years, though, we've only played the long-term campaign I've been GMing. As the Coronavirus crisis has pushed roleplaying games mostly online— and online tools have gotten way better, necessity being the mother of invention— we've taken a new interest in trying other games and other groups. It's easier to solve the logistics of meeting new players & sitting down together when we're not limited by having to sit in the same room.

As we meet new players and try new games with them we find ourselves in old familiar territory. It recalls our experience from years ago, when we had just moved to this area and avidly sought new gaming groups. Sadly this familiar territory is not good territory. Back then we spent a solid year playing with various goofballs and jerks while trying enough people to find a set we truly enjoyed playing with. Today the game systems are new, the technology is new, and the players are new, but the human flaws we have to contend with are the same.

Recently we wrapped up a mini-campaign in D&D 5th Edition (not that the game system matters to this story). I had misgivings about the group from as early as our Session Zero. Three separate times I asked the GM a question about the setting, and Player 1— as I'll call him— interrupted to criticize my questions as unimportant or inappropriate. The GM did answer each of my questions but he did not admonish P1 to stop interrupting or to be more respectful.

It was evident there was going to be a challenging power dynamic in the group, where P1 considered himself the most important person in the room (hence the name "P1") and everybody else, including the GM, was content with his behavior. I knew I would have to either accept that or be ready to argue with him, repeatedly, to have fair say in the game. Frankly, I was on the edge of choosing to withdraw from the game at that point, during Session Zero. But, I figured, it's just a mini-campaign, 3-4 real sessions. I'd give it a chance to see how it goes.

There's a saying, "When someone shows you what kind of a person they are, believe them." Player 1's behavior as if he were the only important person in the game continued in subsequent adventuring sessions. Repeatedly he'd declare an action without consulting the rest of us. Worse, the GM supported his I'm-the-only-one-here attitude by allowing him to complete major solo actions before the rest of us could get a word in edgewise. It felt like P1 was playing an FPS and we were the AI bots supporting him.

I stuck with the game through all four sessions because... well, because it was only four sessions. I wanted to learn a new rules system and to practice being a player again after many years of only GMing. I decided I could put up with this guy's ego and casual disrespect for a short while.

The game wrapped recently, and there was discussion about what we could do next. The chat trailed off without a conclusion. That's fine with me; I doubt I'll want to play with that group again.