By Ken Hollow, unwilling event planner and professional scapegoat
Corporate retreats are already a nightmare. Trust falls, awkward icebreakers, and “vision alignment workshops” designed to make you cry in a hotel ballroom. But now? Add a fox spirit influencer with a flair for theatrics, and you get the kind of chaos that makes HR spontaneously combust.
Yes, Nana has decided we need a retreat. Not for the brand, not for the “team” (which, let’s be honest, is just me with a laptop and three raccoons who refuse to pay taxes). No, this is for the aura of cohesion.
🔹 Act I: The Pitch
Nana announced it over Slack at 3:07AM, because of course she did:
“Team cohesion must be forged under moonlight. Pack your robes.”
I tried to argue that most corporate retreats involve hotels, catered lunches, and maybe some PowerPoint slides. She hissed like I’d suggested a LinkedIn motivational post. By sunrise, she had already booked a “mystical forest venue” (translation: a campground with no WiFi).
🔹 Act II: The Agenda From Hell
Here’s the proposed itinerary:
- Icebreaker: Chanting in unison until “our vibrations sync.”
- Team-Building Exercise: Carrying buckets of river water uphill “to symbolize digital workflows.”
- Workshop: A bonfire where everyone burns their “Q4 disappointments” written on parchment.
- Networking Dinner: A communal cauldron meal. Dietary restrictions not honored.
- Closing Ceremony: A full moon ritual with velvet robes (mandatory, $80 from Nana’s merch line).
I asked if we could at least have name tags. She said, “Names are prisons.”
🔹 Act III: HR Would Implode
If HR existed in this company (it doesn’t, unless you count the raccoons), they would quit on the spot.
- Liability waivers? Nonexistent.
- Fire safety? Bonfires, candles, incense — I’m pretty sure we’re summoning OSHA violations.
- Alcohol policy? “Yes.”
- Accessibility? The only ramp is for spirits to cross dimensions.
It’s less “corporate retreat” and more “mid-budget cult initiation.”
🔹 Act IV: The Actual Experience
Day one, someone (not naming names, but Nana) tried to bless the cauldron soup with “energetic alignment.” Translation: she dumped half a bottle of essential oils into it. Everyone pretended it was fine. I ate three granola bars from my backpack.
During the trust exercise, instead of catching me, Nana let me fall and said, “Failure is your teacher.” My back still hurts.
The closing ceremony? Raccoon uprising. They stole half the ritual candles and staged a siege. Nana declared it “a lesson in resilience.” I declared it “grounds for early retirement.”
🔹 Act V: The Aftermath
Nana called the retreat “transformative.” Fans are already demanding she offer “Mystical Offsites” as a paid Patreon tier. I’m fielding emails from people who want to know if the cauldron stew recipe is gluten-free. (It’s not. It’s not anything-free.)
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to get the smell of patchouli and damp velvet out of my hoodie.
🔹 Final Thoughts From the Burnt-Out Planner
Corporate retreats are hell. Nana’s corporate retreat is a whole new circle. Bonfires, chanting, robes — it’s like a TED Talk run by witches. And I’m the unpaid stagehand.
If anyone ever invites you to a “team-building retreat” under the full moon, say no. Or at least bring your own snacks. And maybe a fire extinguisher.
Ken Hollow, reluctant event coordinator, raccoon negotiator, and robe-averse mortal
Hi. I’m Ken. I run Two Second Solutions, a one-man agency that somehow landed a fox spirit influencer as a client. I drink too much coffee, blog when I need to vent, and regularly update my résumé just in case she sets the office on fire again. I’m not crying — it’s just spell residue.