Thursday, March 13, 2008

A Teambuilding Exercise

There is a certain Pavlovian response that happens when you hear the phrase "Please get into groups of 4." You can almost hear the desk scrapping across the floor as your eyes dart around, searching for someone who won't reject you.

Sometimes those groups are heaven. Everyone has their part to play, and everyone plays it perfectly. Donald Trump would never criticizes this team, let alone fire anyone. It's a power group.

Then there is the other team. You are the only one who seems to even know there is an assignment, everyone doesn't seem to care. You are the only one who does any work, and it's exasperating. Sometimes you grin and bare it and present to the class like you all had a part in it, and sometimes you go to the teacher and get another group.

Isn't it strange, isn't it, the parallels to a being in a relationship?

I find it to hard to not be in a Power Group. Lover Boy and I have always worked as a team, from the beginning. I tell him where I stand, and he tells me where he stands, and then we stand together. If one of us is weak, the other comes in strong so we are still a solid unit. If I'm having a problem, something I shy away from, he comes in and takes care of it.

If he is coming up with a problem, I help him solve it while supporting his decision, no matter where it'll be.

My friends are the same way. If my friend forgot someone's name at a party, I go over and introduce myself to them, so I can get their name to bring back to my friend. If there is a problem we solve it together. Great relationships always work like you are on a power team.

Hell, even Ethel helped Lucy with her laundry.


That's why it pains me when I know some relationships out there that are so bad, you have to go back to the teacher to complain.

2 comments:

Pandora Wilde said...

I always got stuck with the jock who can't spell exercise, the cheerleader who's busier bitching about the nail she broke than realizing that she's supposed to be doing her damned classword, and let's not forget the class secretary with the organizing fetish who's great at doling out folders and special pens and markers and a system for marking shit up but no clue about actually what should go in those folders to be marked up.

I hated high school. Truly.

Sarah said...

This post is great. :P