Page 21 of Things I Overshared
Still, I’m dripping with advantages, I know this. I had no college debt and had saved my generous allowance up throughout high school and college. I split rent with Skye, but she buys the groceries because I’m often out, so the only thing I really spend money on is my wardrobe, makeup, and accessories. I have a pretty good-size savings account with a whole digital “envelope” earmarked just for fun. What’s more fun than whisking your best friend away to Disney?!
I realize Hannah is staring at me.
“Oh, yes. Hi, Hannah! My name is Samantha, and I am the senior director of sales. My average day is actually a lot of memorization and then answering questions. I do coordinate a lot for Darrin, but most of the time, I’m going on sales calls all over the boroughs, every day. Then at all those meetings, I have to be ready to answer a million random questions about our products.
“So I memorize during my commutes—what’s selling best in the RainyDaze collection this year, for example, suggested retail price, average profit margins of other sellers, where they place them in their displays, how many cards per unit, and so on. I also memorize facts about the people I’m meeting with—do they have kids I can ask about, which sports teams are their favorite, which leads me into another rabbit hole of that team and their best players and their record and—” I realize, as Emerson stares at me with an almost-grin, that I have said more than anyone else with my answer, by a long shot. SamStorm strikes again.Dadgummit!
“Sorry. You all get the idea. And um, let’s see, you guys probably don’t know when I was little, I had a pet bird named Fivel.” There is a murmur of various ways to say “We knew that” and scoffs throughout the room of about forty people.
Hannah says, “Ooops, what else you got?”
“Oh. Right. Ummm. Oh! One of the things I miss most from home is Earl’s Famous—”
“Barbecue,” half the office finishes in unison. I start to turn a brighter coral than the blouse I have tucked into my red pencil skirt.
Nicole laughs next to me as Hannah starts to say, “It’s all right, we can just—”
“Okay,” I interrupt too loudly and then blurt, “up until college, my life plan was to become a pediatrician.” There. No one knows aboutthat, that’s for freaking sure. Everyone shuts up in surprise, except Nicole, who makes a gulping-laugh type of noise. I guess I shocked her like she shocked me. I can almost hear the collection of thoughts around the table:Silly Sam a doctor? Ha! No way!
I focus on everyone else and their answers, breathing through my embarrassment. I guess I am a chronic oversharer. At twenty-six, I feel like I should have a better handle on myself and my giant mouth. But then I wonder, is being an open book all that bad? If my contents are genuine and spilling them puts others at ease, helps them to open up too, what’s the harm? After what feels like an eternity, it’s Emerson’s turn and my thoughts quickly quiet.
“Right,” he starts, looking at Hannah for a moment. “Emerson Clark, CFO. I spend my day in spreadsheets, emails, and calls. And . . .” He pauses.
“Wait, wait, wait, that’s not a few sentences. C’mon, Mr. Clark,” I interject.
Hannah glances at me and then back at him with a half nod.
He sighs, as he has to start talking again. I kind of love how pained he looks. “I work on projections for the future—what will we make next quarter, what will our expenses be, what can we adjust. I meet with department heads, the CEO, the COO, the CTO. But mostly, the spreadsheets. And . . .” He finally looks at me for just a second. “My favorite color is canary yellow.”
I squint at him.Liar!And cheater. There’s no way that’s his favorite color and there’s no way Margaret doesn’t know his favorite color already. There’s also no way anyone is going to pipe up about that, since I already interjected once. There’s also no way I am wearing anything yellow on my trip. Guess I need to do some repacking when I get home.
It’s clear as the day goes on that Emerson Clark hates team-building exercises as I expected, and his glares convince me he hates me for making him spend his day this way. I avoid his angry eyes through the straw-house-building exercise and the minefield exercise, where I laughed so hard and died a thousand pretend deaths.
I did watch him during his turn in the minefield game, since he was blindfolded. Unlike me, getting excited and chatting and overcorrecting, he listened intently to the directions of everyone yelling at him and successfully made it through the room without touching one plastic disk on the floor. My only comfort was that he looked miserable as he did it flawlessly.
“All right, last exercise, and everyone’s favorite at all my workshops. This is called Inbox, and for you introverts in here, you’ll be happy to know we’re done with all the group chatting—it’s all done via text message.”
Everyone chuckles as she explains, “Each of you go to the link on the screen and you’ll see a form, with a field for each person in this room. Go through, and next to each person’s name, type in something you appreciate about them and their work here at Canton Cards. When everyone is done, I’ll hit Export, and each of you will get one email containing all your notes. The person will only know the message is from you if you sign your name, and it’s totally fine to keep your note anonymous if this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, or if maybe you don’t know the person all that well so you’re grasping at straws.
“I have to add, however, just a required disclaimer due to past experience: the messages can be tracked through the system, so this is not a suggestion box and any bullying or nasty messages will be grounds for probation or termination. Though I’m sure no one here at this company would even think of such a thing.” She tilts her chin down as she finishes her warning.
I smile at this exercise. I know everyone in the office and easily have something nice to say about all of them, even people I never work with, like Dina in the IT department. I rarely talk to her, but her shoe collection is amazing, which I know because Skye is a sneaker head too. Telling her that her taste in sneaks is to die for will make her day.
But. There it is. The name I’ve saved for last.
Screw it. I tap next to Emerson's name and type what I want to say. Let them reprimand me if they want.
I appreciate your candor, so I know you’ll appreciate mine: I am going to make our trip a living hell for you! Bon voyage!
Sincerely, Samantha Canton
After a good half hour, Hannah excitedly exports our emails, which she wants us to pull up and read right now, all at the same time.
Aaaaaand I’m crying.
Two seconds in. I’m not even embarrassed about it, since other people are clearly moved too.
Nicole tells me I’m the best bestie ever, Darrin says I singlehandedly make this the easiest executive sales job he’s ever had. More than one person anonymously writes that I make meetings bearable. A couple people say thanks for always making them laugh. Someone has put that they love my fashion sense (I’m onto you, Dina!).Someone says I’m nice to a fault, which feels like code for “I don’t like you, but it’s fine because everyone else does.” I guess that one is from Emerson.
