I worked for a company several years ago that really knew how to have fun. The business the company was in was important but unglamorous, and had a huge department doing tedious customer-service work for middling pay. The company tried to make up for it with fun diversions like the Wednesday they rented a camel (as it was hump day), and the Sumo-wrestling competition complete with roly-poly Sumo suits for anyone who wanted to play.
Once a year the entire Engineering team, of which I was a part, went on a three-day junket somewhere. Officially it was for professional development, as we spent time learning new technologies and techniques. But mostly, it was for fun.
One year we rented an enormous cabin in the Smokies. I think it slept 75, which was overkill because we were a team of about 30. A bunch of engineers spent most of a day mountain biking, and another group went ziplining. I took a long solo hike and photographed the hills. We all spent another day doing touristy things in Pigeon Forge. This all had to be crazy expensive for the company, but it was an incredible trip.
Except for the one big thing I didn’t enjoy. The cabin had three hot tubs, and many of my co-workers spent the evenings parading around in swimwear.
I like to know my co-workers as people. Tim is a skilled bassist and plays in a band. Adam is deeply into board games and owns more than a hundred. Taylor dances semi-professionally. Bill was a professional wrestler in his 20s. Amy is a serious motorcyclist who occasionally races.
But I don’t want to know about Jenny’s generous cleavage or David’s surprisingly dense chest hair.
I’m no prude; I’m rather a devoted fan of cleavage. There’s just a point past which being familiar with co-workers crosses a line. That line is different for each of us, but I think most people can agree that there is a line. Past that line for me is knowing what my co-workers’ bodies look like under their usual clothes. I don’t want to think about Jenny’s chest when I see her at work the following Monday.
Similarly, I don’t want to know that Emily smokes weed with her friends on the weekends, especially since that’s still illegal here in Indiana. I also don’t want to know that Andy spends his vacation at the Midwest FurFest convention in full tiger costume. And Amy the motorcyclist I mentioned earlier? She rides to the Sturgis rally every year. I do not want to know how far she walks onto the wild side there.
If these people were my friends, then sure! I’m open-minded and accepting. But at work, I want my co-workers to keep their freak flags furled. And their chests covered.
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