I knew you'd kick that events ass
Boxes, schmoxes
There’s no time between the end of the day one schedule and the networking event. I decide to stay in my current outfit, heels and all, and make my way to the outdoor space.
Logo-emblazoned lanterns lead me down to an outdoor sitting area, equipped with love seats and throw pillows. The contrast between the rough, tree-laden terrain and the furniture is something out of a modern architecture magazine. It looks like one of those viral aesthetic videos that circulate social media.
The networking event is practically perfect and a bit over the top— exactly what I’d expect. A personalized tumbler cup and Patagonia scarf were in my welcome gift, with a note to bring it tonight. I feel a little out of place with my heels still on, but the only other option was my slippers. Oh, the pros and cons of packing light.
The tumbler makes sense as the happy hour is centered around the most decadent, and boozy, hot chocolate bar I’ve ever seen. With five different options, no milk preference goes unfulfilled. I start with the oat milk base, said to have notes of butterscotch, and add from-scratch marshmallows. I top it off with a shot of craft butterscotch liquor.
At this moment, I drift to every eye roll and smart-ass smirk Jack would shoot my way whenever I ordered anything with oat milk. He loved to makejokes about “milking an oat.” At the time, I thought this was in the realm of charming banter when in reality, I was giving Jack too much credit. He wasn’t charming, he was annoying with bad jokes.
My shoulders relax as I take in a mostly laid-back group of people, enjoying their probably spiked cocoa beverages. Not a lot of company talk going on here and I love it. I prefer a low-commitment happy hour with the goal being to meet people instead of spouting your elevator pitch.
I come back to when a server, whose only job this evening is to walk around and top off everyone’s drink with house-made whipped creams, asks again if I’d like any. When the question is “whipped cream?” the answer is always, emphatically “yes.”
My game plan for any networking event, like this one, is to start by sitting alone. It’s something I picked up after I heard someone complaining about the people who awkwardly jump into conversations. I find people who seek you out are much more likely to carry a decent conversation instead of forced small talk that makes you wish you had a sharp stick for your eye.
Before I can make a dent in the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had, Royce sits next to me.
“Ivy Lawson—so happy you could join us,” he casually greets me, like we’ve been friends forever, and not like he was pissed at me earlier.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say as I try to remember the article I read a few weeks back. Royce is in his early thirties and worth something like four-million dollars. I immediately have the urge to ask him what’s the deal with the number in the middle of his company name.
“I heard you were able to sort out your little mishap,” he says with eyebrows raised, like it’s some sort of gossip.
“Yeah, once thelodgeemployees found the boxes, we were all set,” I say, trying to hide my mood which is plummeting.
“Those shipping details were tricky. Gotta follow them right down to the punctuation.” He laughs and puts a hand on my shoulder.
I could melt into the ground. Is he insinuating that I couldn’t follow instructions andthat’swhy the boxes were lost? And also, his hand feels heavy and gross.
“Actually, I did follow the instructions. Not sure what happened but I’m happy we were able to deliver and have a great first day.” I want this interaction to be over, so I don’t elaborate on how ridiculous his passive assumption is.
“You’re right, you’re right.” He smiles so big it’s like lightbulbs could shine out of his front teeth. I hate it. “Now onto the fun stuff… will you be joining us for the morning hike tomorrow?” He leans forward, rugged hands on his knees.
My immediate reaction is to laugh but I don’t think that will go over well with the CEO, at their event focusing on sustainability and the power of the “great outdoors.” In my brain, the words “fun” and “hike” don’t belong in the same sentence.
“Oh, you never know. Depends on how that time change treats me tomorrow,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders, like there’s a chance I’ll show up for this pre-sunrise hike. I didn’t even bring a pair of tennis shoes.
“Hoping I’ll see you, but if not, definitely at the wrap-up event,” Royce notes, lightly touching my hand, preparing to stand up.
“Sounds great,” I say before taking a sip of my hot chocolate, aware of the touch. Huh? Maybe he’s had too many hot chocolates.
“Do you have my cell number? Here it is, just in case.” He slips me a business card with his number written on the back. Was this at the ready in his pocket?
Royce leaves his space on the loveseat, and I try not to look confused. That was a weird interaction.
Trying to shake off the awkwardness, I take in my surroundings. The Emerald Canopy Lodge name fits perfectly because I’m not sure if I’ve seen this many trees in my life. Quite literally, there are trees everywhere. Past thetrees is an outline of mountains, actual come-and-climb-me-if-that’s-your-vibe mountains, with a lake at its feet. Stars replace the familiar glow from city streetlights and traffic. I can’t imagine how dark this place gets.
If you couldn’t see the trees, you’d have no problem smelling them. I’m wondering if the scent will follow me back to my room.
But the thing itching my brain is how quiet it is. Right now, I hear the bustling of people moving around and enjoying the event, but there’s nothing outside of that. Gone is the buzz of traffic paired with lives you don’t know, as you co-exist in the same place.
I’ve never been one for the outdoors. Sure, all the studies I’ve read say it’s supposed to be beneficial, but I despise it. I blame it on a string of family camping trips going insanely wrong. Everything from second-degree burns, to the flu, to crashing my bike has blurred any of the happy memories that occurred.
Once you throw up for four days inside a tent, where you can’t take a hot shower without shower shoes, you hit your quota for tent experiences for your entire life. Trust me.
