Work is all about meetings.  Painful, painful meetings. 

If I ever to run a management seminar, you know those horrible weekend camps for executives or whatnot, I think I would have to set up an elaborate serial killer trap like gets written about all the time, but is too elaborate to actually work.  The Rube Goldberg meets Jeffrey Dahmer killer, like in the Saw movies.   I probably wouldn't actually kill anyone.  'Cept for maybe by accident.  Oops.

Here's my survivalist team building exercise.  You have like an average conference room and your maybe edumacated smart manager types.  They sit in a happy discussion-invoking horseshoe shape, happy happy joy joy, and we all commence to building the team.

First we go around the room and say a bit about ourselves, because we fucking love ourselves, don't we?  Then we play an icebreaker game meant to show off our intellectual sparkling clarity, our logic skills, our ability to get a fox and a bag of feed and a chicken on a boat and flip pennies into piles of tails and heads and figure out which marble is coming out of the bag into our brilliant even to our digits fingertips.

Here's the catch — I start removing oxygen from the room in direct proportion to self-satisfaction, self-promotion, self-aggrandizement.  All the classic selves.  All the rows of I after I after I after I that spells out the I everyone tries to find in the word team.

You play with the team, you learn how to collaborate, you breathe.  Simple really.

Beats the fuck out of rappelling through an obstacle course.  Who doesn't like to breathe?