Fun Boss Mode
A story from our farm team's field trip of last week
Good morning out there. I’m back in normal writing mode. Thanks for reading the long Sugarbear story - which a friend and editor has informed me is most accurately called autofiction. I’m working on more, but for now, I’m just back to telling little stories about everyday life on a lily farm in South Carolina.
When I used to run a big crew, I struggled with being the fun boss.
“We should all go out to lunch!” they’d say. “Y’all should bring your lunch and save that money. And stay away from that siren of a soda machine!” I’d say.
“Let’s do a White elephant Christmas party,” they’d plead. Before I could roll my eyes, my friend, my co-manager, and the boss everybody loved, would save me. “You have to do stuff like this a few times a year,” Melodie would say.
Last week, she did it again. Last week, twenty-plus years later, I planned what I thought would be a fun, bonding trip for our crew of young gardeners. I told them we’d start with a pool party in Columbia, at Melodie’s super cool garden and pool. Then order out supper, spend the night, and we’d go to a spectacular garden the next day, in Greenville. Of course, we’d work for a few hours, but it was easy, in a dramatic setting, and we were doing good work — converting a lawn to an eco-friendly planting.
Mel rolled her eyes at this, just a little, and said, “You should grill out for them too.”
“Way beyond my fun boss mode settings,” I said. “This is supposed to be fun for me too. And we have work to do.” She cut her eyes and, in doing so, conveyed a lecture that only a friend of 40 years can do.
“Ok, how about if I volunteer to get out of the pool and run to Jack Brown’s in 5-Points to pick up burgers?”
Ultimately, she approved of my plan and helped me get into fun boss mode before everyone showed up. We stocked the fridge and tossed floating things into the pool. Soon, everyone soaked and splashed and chatted. Except for Mickie, who sat in jeans and a T-shirt. She stayed that way for most of the afternoon but eventually rolled up her pant legs and dangled her feet in the water. Mickie has confused me ever since she’s been with us — I’ve never figured out if her quiet is boredom, offense, or just how she is.
In the water, the crew talked of Dungeons and Dragons and TV shows and stars whose names I didn’t know. But I tried. I tried to roll up my jeans and dangle my feet in that conversation. I listened and gleaned information.
After dark, we dried off and fluffed up, and realized we had a few hours before bed to fill, so I said, “I learned today that Mickie is into Broadway plays, some of y’all are into history, and one of you is into that old singer Madonna. So — may I suggest a movie? It’s a Madonna musical set in a time that’s very relevant to our world threatened by authoritarianism.”
“And that is Jenks’ fun boss mode!” Melodie said, with some irony.
When Colonel Peron sang of being distracted from work by a woman, of suppressing workers’ rights, then his generals cheered him for “being slightly right of Attila the Hun,” Chance recognized the danger of the wolf who claims power for the right reasons, then suppresses others’ ideas… and elections.
Everyone loved Evita! I took that as a sign that my fun boss mode was working — at least for a night I felt a bit of that Evita euphoria.
The next morning, we hit the road at 6 a.m. and drove to the job in Greenville.
