Mixing business with pleasure

Some people do business over drinks.  Others conduct commerce on the links or at the side of a pool. But the story I heard the other night from a friend topped them all.

A friend of mine from Houston was trying to close a deal with a company he had been working on for several months. It was a big deal– a huge contract and he was very near the point of “sign here.” It would mean a huge commission for him, so he was very keen on finding the right means by which to get to the close.

Then the future client asked him to attend a conference in Nevada with him.  It was one of those survival courses where you have to do all manner of physical activity to save your neck, as well as the lives of your teammates.  The winning team – and they think this is fun – would win a visit to the local sky diving ranch.

Brad’s team won. Or as he said they kicked booty. From rock climbing to rope bridge building  and gorge crossing, they were by far and away the best survival team in the camp that week. He and his prospect were really bonding.

At the close of the camp each individual on the winning team received a certificate allowing them one jump at the sky diving ranch about twenty miles away from where they had been living in nature for a week.  The certificate was good for a year and Brad thought he would bank his and return to Houston.  But his prospective client wanted to jump that weekend. Apparently, he had several jumps under his belt and loved the exhilaration. Brad had jumped in the service, but that had been years ago – getting ready for a tour in Vietnam. “Not to worry,” claimed his friend. “They’ll certify you and we can go up and have a great jump.”

They drove to the ranch and Brad spent the better part of a Saturday going through drills and maneuvers to re-familiarize himself with tossing his body out of a perfectly good airplane. Toward the end of the day, the director of the company came in and said a front was moving into the area and would linger for a few days, so if anybody wanted to jump, they had to go now.  Brad’s buddy, grabbed is arm and nodded. “Now, big boy. Now.”

And so they climbed into the plane and took off, circling the field where they were to return to after a few minutes of free fall and then a glide, enabled by their silk. (Not sure if it really is silk, but that is what they call it.)

At the appointed altitude Brad’s friend nodded and disappeared out of the door of the plane. With a big gulp of courage, Brad followed. “I was floating in space. It was the most beautiful feeling I had ever experienced.  I was a bird.  Then I looked down. Earth was racing up at me.  I had to do something.  I nearly panicked, and then I remembered the words of my instructor to countdown and then release the chute. I did and the parachute came out and caught the wind and together we floated down calmly and beautifully.”

Brad landed and began to look around for his friend.  He was nowhere to be seen.  Brad had, thanks to the winds kicking up from the front, drifted fairly far away from the landing zone.  He began to pack his gear when a truck came out of nowhere and zoomed right past him.  He waved but the driver never slowed, bouncing over the rough terrain and over a hill and out of his view. “It was weird.  Like out of a movie.  One minute there was a truck, I assumed was coming for me, then it was gone. Just like that.”

A few minutes later, as he was hauling his gear on his tired shoulders toward a county road, the truck reappeared, this time driving much slower.  It stopped and the crew motioned for Brad to put his gear in the back and hop aboard.

“Where did you guys go to?” He asked.

“Ellis’ chute didn’t open. He’s dead. “

Those words rang out into the crisp Nevada air and slapped him in the face. His buddy was gone.  For good.

Brad returned to Houston and went back to work.  The firm for which is friend had been employed called him one day and said they were ready to sign the contract. A new man met him at the company’s conference room and conducted the business quickly and efficiently.  Few words were exchanged.  Brad said he felt slightly uneasy considering the passing of his friend on the outing. Then the new man, a lawyer the company hired to review all contracts, asked Brad, if he wanted to go play golf the next weekend.  Some of the guys in the company were going to Mexico to a new resort course on the Pacific Ocean. They wanted to invite him along.

He declined. He didn’t feel like mixing business with pleasure. Later that weekend he caught a newscast on TV which reported that two of the men on that junket had been kidnapped by a drug cartel and were being held for ransom.

Golf is a dangerous business sport, too. It seems. The two men were returned unharmed after the firm paid several hundred thousands of dollars for them.  Far more than Brad’s commission was.

Brad, when telling me this story, wondered aloud if much business was ever conducted over a chess match.