Are you a team player. Do you enjoy working as part of a group? Perhaps you like leading a group. Or perhaps you tick the “non-of-the above” box. There’s no “I” in team and that’s just how you like it. A solo “I” is the one and only spot for you.
If you’re the latter, I think I’m with you. I can do team playing but I prefer to work alone. I like to be responsible for myself and don’t have a particular urge to tell others what to do.
That doesn’t mean I’m not able to; I have been a boss several times during my lengthy career and I’m told by those I “bossed” that I was very good at it. I see that as a compliment and I’m flattered. Even so, it’s not my natural milieu.
So, imagine my surprise when I found myself* inadvertently involved in a team building exercise on a barge over a long weekend.
The idea for the trip was simple enough. I’d been on one of those Essex barges for a day trip last year and loved it. They were part of my childhood. I used to see them gliding across the North Sea on the horizon and always wondered what they were and where they were going. No-one seemed to know.
Until some decades later and my curious friend discovered not only what they were but that we could actually travel on them. What a delight!
So, when the opportunity came up earlier in the year to book a four-day sailing trip up the Essex coast (complete with a day of sea shanties) well, I was up for it. I’m a good sailor – I mean I don’t get seasick – and the barge had been on duty for some 120 years what could possibly go wrong?
Yes, you’re right. Lots, most of which I hadn’t imagined.
The stately sight of Essex barges at their moorings
The barges are run by a trust and all those involved are volunteers. That was a positive to me because it means they love their work. I, too, love enthusiasm and was looking forward to observing them at work, while enjoying a leisurely rest on board.
We’d been sent a brief list of what to take and what to expect. I was a little uncertain about sharing a cabin (I didn’t plan to and hadn’t expected to, except with my friend) so queried that and was told the barge had been updated and there were only two-berth cabins so there was no problem.
Except there was. I was on the not-yet-refurbished barge: four-berth cabins; fairly grimsville loos and no showers. At this point, if I’d been on my own, I’d have jumped ship. I’m a flouncer; it’s learned behaviour from my mother who was a flouncer like no other – and over long distances.
But my friend finds my “assertiveness” acutely embarrassing so, in the spirit of being kind, I and my happy face stayed put. My face clearly didn’t entirely fool the skipper and his mate for a four-berth cabin quickly became one for two people. It was crowded even then, but I was grateful.
The cabin was dark and damp but I comforted myself with knowing it was hot on deck and it would have been worse in times gone by. I’d wanted an historic adventure and I was having one. It was up to me to make sure I had a good time.
Then again, not necessarily. It wasn’t a question of not reading the small print, the information was just not there.
We had our safety briefing and knew we’d have to go off to find something to eat on the first night but didn’t realise we’d have to make a dash for it because there was only 10 minutes left before the on-quay pub closed. We made it with a minute to spare. The fish was fresh, the weird new summer flies were everywhere and the view was spectacular. I was on my hols.
Unfortunately, and shortly after returning to the barge, I discovered that was not the case either for me, or my 11 fellow guests, only one of whom I knew.
The note we’d originally been emailed said the crew would be delighted if we wanted to help out either with the sailing or with the catering, but it didn’t say it was compulsory. It turned out it was and a rota was being organised. That was my second moment for a determined flounce and to my great credit – in my opinion anyway – I didn’t. But I did let my dissatisfaction be known. I was angry. There’s a difference between saying you’re welcome to take part and being told unless you do, you’re stuffed. Or not. We were charged for the trip but not given the choice. If I’d been offered one, I’d have declined the task.
So, what next? I remember it once being pointed out to me that I “talked active but acted passive” and that really threw me. I decided it would be a lifelong quest to remember and challenge. This was just the time. I’d talked active (by complaining), so I’d act active too.
I did but not perhaps in the way the observation of my behaviour intended. My active process meant volunteering to make the breakfast over the following two mornings. Bacon, eggs, sausages and tomatoes on a cooker that was a worse version of what I own and not entirely up to the job.
I won’t bore you with the details but we did all mix in. The trio of male friends and vocalists turned out to be astonishing team players, presenting tea-time as a real treat. I had to up my game and volunteered to lay the table for my cabin-mate while he heated up pre-prepared cottage pie and vegetables that was on the menu for supper. My table display was probably better than the dish itself but, by that time, we were institutionalised and grateful.
And so this went on; the boys performed magnificently both on and off stage and the rest of us muddled through. It was interesting to see one man who was absolutely not going to take part, though he never said so, and would almost muscle you out of the way to organise his coffee flask. It turned out he was allergic to sunflower seeds and, yes, there were some in the bread. Who knew?
After my (very) long four days away, I returned straight home and threw all my clothes into the washing machine, even those I’d not worn. I wanted no lingering trace or dusky scent of that damp weekend.
And what did I learn? If necessary, I can be a team player but I’m lucky enough to be in the situation where I no longer have to be. If I want to “muck in” I’ll happily volunteer but I don’t want to be forced. I’d prefer to go it alone.
And, unless there’s a paid chef on board, I will never, ever again go on one of those barge trips.
*I have a friend who hates the phrase “found her/himself” because she can’t understand how anyone can “find themselves” involved in anything that’s not of their choosing. How wrong she is. I find it happens all the time.