dancy-cal....
There's a few things in life I'm not very good at.
And then there's conga lines.
I've been a witness, or part of a conga line about four times in about four years. So, yes, I pretty much average one conga line a year. And if you ask me, that's four conga lines too many.
About three years back when my boss and I were at a lunch function on Melbourne Cup day, we joined a conga line. I think we were leading it actually. Anyway, it was an example of a conga line done well.
Because of the festiveness of the day, the 20 ladies who were in the line had enjoyed a few cheeky vinos.
Let's face it, they were up for any conga-line activity. Anyway, we somehow led all these people outside the ballroom where we'd had lunch, into the hall, and then back through a different door, down the aisles of the ballroom to the dance floor which seemed the perfect place for a conga line to dissipate. This successful conga line lured me into a state of false conga line confidence....or "congadence"....if you will.
Then there was a conference in August last year that our work organised. We'd set up drinks on the veranda of this venue, to be followed by dinner in the ballroom.
The evening was getting on a bit, so we needed to get everyone to their tables to eat.
My boss thought it would be an excellent idea to start a conga line to lead everyone to their tables.
She started it, then got someone to go second. Being a team player I went third and for the life of me I couldn't get a fourth person to jump on board. A three-person conga line is as bad as a one-person-one....and a one-person-one is just someone doing a random little jig with no motives. (Actually, it might look like they are pretending to be a pooch lifting their leg at every likely tree and then opting for another tree with the alternate leg, while singing a well known jingle).
"C'mon!!!! Jump into it! Get into the conga line!!!!" I said to everyone who was or wasn't looking my direction and in a not very 'conference-organiser-like' but quite aggressive tone. The tone was quite similar to the one I use when I rarely play the position of wing in touch footy and no one passes me the ball and I can see a clear gap to the try line.
I should have realised this method of shouting doesn't work for assembling conga lines either.
The next conga line was at another conference in February. My boss (there's a reoccurring theme here) either started or joined a conga line. I jumped on third and determined to not let myself be the last one on the line doing the "da-da-da-da-da-HEY!" I said to one of the guys from the company, "C'mon! Jump on!!!"
I seemed to have him. Just as he went to be the fourth person allowing us to have a quartet of "da-da-da-da-da-HEYS" and the responsibility would be shifted to him having to find the fifth person, the music stopped and he remembered he had to go mingle with someone.
Ahhhh. Dammnit!
So last weekend, when I was facilitating one of our client's involvement in a charity event, I kept my feet firmly on the ground when the company's four, bright pink mascots began a conga line.
"Let them go Maree, let them go," my internal monologue warmly said.
Then I cracked up laughing at how freakin' funny I was.
The end.
- Tennis
- Following recipes
- Not laughing at my own jokes
- Telling side-splitting jokes
- Not repeating the non-side-splitting jokes
And then there's conga lines.
I've been a witness, or part of a conga line about four times in about four years. So, yes, I pretty much average one conga line a year. And if you ask me, that's four conga lines too many.
About three years back when my boss and I were at a lunch function on Melbourne Cup day, we joined a conga line. I think we were leading it actually. Anyway, it was an example of a conga line done well.
Because of the festiveness of the day, the 20 ladies who were in the line had enjoyed a few cheeky vinos.
Let's face it, they were up for any conga-line activity. Anyway, we somehow led all these people outside the ballroom where we'd had lunch, into the hall, and then back through a different door, down the aisles of the ballroom to the dance floor which seemed the perfect place for a conga line to dissipate. This successful conga line lured me into a state of false conga line confidence....or "congadence"....if you will.
Then there was a conference in August last year that our work organised. We'd set up drinks on the veranda of this venue, to be followed by dinner in the ballroom.
The evening was getting on a bit, so we needed to get everyone to their tables to eat.
My boss thought it would be an excellent idea to start a conga line to lead everyone to their tables.
She started it, then got someone to go second. Being a team player I went third and for the life of me I couldn't get a fourth person to jump on board. A three-person conga line is as bad as a one-person-one....and a one-person-one is just someone doing a random little jig with no motives. (Actually, it might look like they are pretending to be a pooch lifting their leg at every likely tree and then opting for another tree with the alternate leg, while singing a well known jingle).
"C'mon!!!! Jump into it! Get into the conga line!!!!" I said to everyone who was or wasn't looking my direction and in a not very 'conference-organiser-like' but quite aggressive tone. The tone was quite similar to the one I use when I rarely play the position of wing in touch footy and no one passes me the ball and I can see a clear gap to the try line.
I should have realised this method of shouting doesn't work for assembling conga lines either.
The next conga line was at another conference in February. My boss (there's a reoccurring theme here) either started or joined a conga line. I jumped on third and determined to not let myself be the last one on the line doing the "da-da-da-da-da-HEY!" I said to one of the guys from the company, "C'mon! Jump on!!!"
I seemed to have him. Just as he went to be the fourth person allowing us to have a quartet of "da-da-da-da-da-HEYS" and the responsibility would be shifted to him having to find the fifth person, the music stopped and he remembered he had to go mingle with someone.
Ahhhh. Dammnit!
So last weekend, when I was facilitating one of our client's involvement in a charity event, I kept my feet firmly on the ground when the company's four, bright pink mascots began a conga line.
"Let them go Maree, let them go," my internal monologue warmly said.
Then I cracked up laughing at how freakin' funny I was.
The end.
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