Darkness in San Diego

Part I: The Challenge

“Come on, take it.” A command, not a question. His icy blue eyes mercilessly drilling holes into mine like lasers.

I had already said no twice. While I wasn’t sure what the consequences would be if I continued my insubordination, I knew they would be highly unpleasant and require more energy than I currently had available.

The tequila shot glistened on the high top in front of me at this no-name sports bar in San Diego; waiting patiently as the tension built. Meanwhile, the gazes of the 12 grown men I was with (executives all 20 years my senior), were cast downward, avoiding mine like the plague, as I got bullied by this Napoleonic little sociopath who unfortunately ran our company.

The only person who made eye contact was my direct boss. He knew I didn’t drink alcohol and could tell I was in some level of distress. A hero among laymen, he jumped in attempting to diffuse and distract with levity and a charming smile: “Nah nah! She’s good. She’s set. I could use a double. Give it here!” 

A challenge. No one breathed. 

It’s never a smooth landing when you try pushback against a billionaire’s son with a chip on his shoulder, inflated power, a prison stint on his record and alot to prove. A small man in stature, when angry he presented like an petulant elf having a temper tantrum.

Laughable if only this dude wasn’t the most terrifying guy on planet earth. I couldn’t stand that he scared me. He scared all of us. I felt the absence of his empathy like an icy grip around my spine whenever I was in his presence. He seemed to derive deep pleasure from diminishing others. Because of that, I was adamant in this moment to appear unfazed when in reality I was frozen; overcome with exhaustion, fear and an overwhelming hatred towards this little Golem nightmare in front of me.

“No. She should take it. She’s worked sooo hard…Go ahead, Emma, take it.” His cold stare now dancing between my boss and I: two challengers now to take on. He lifted his shot, tipping his glass towards us both: “Cheers.”  We both knew if we continued to push, this would turn in to something bigger than either of us felt like dealing with. Were we up for the fight?

I looked at my attempted savior and shook my head in defeat. Thanks for trying, but who was I kidding? A shot would be fucking great right now. No reason to have him lay in front of a train I was hoping would hit me anyway. I wasn’t that resilient. I was exhausted, not having slept more than 4 hours a night since I arrived in this godforsaken city 6 days ago. I was devastated by how the week had gone and wanted to escape any way I could. I knew going in to it, there was no way to come out unscathed, but fuck. Actually going through it was a whole different thing. 

Part II: The Decline

I arrived in San Diego the week prior to start setting up for this important advisory board meeting for all of our company’s top accounts; an annual tradition to discuss massive deals and deepen existing relationships. Our company’s top officer’s including our London-based CEO would fly out, laying out the red carpet for our best partners.

My role at the company at the time was managing all of our account relationships at the highest level. Despite the fact that I was an executive at the organization, traveling all over the world with my accounts negotiating large deals, I had somehow (though unsurprisingly) been designated the “event planner” for the entire week. This meant helping create the itinerary, book restaurants, hotels, flights, providing printed cards, gifts, non-stop entertainment and on and on for a four day meeting for a bunch of travel executives in San Diego. My actual nightmare (and certainly not my job).

These advisory board trips were notorious at our company. People always seemed to get fired during or very soon after. Large scale public humiliations and enraged blow ups by our company’s highest officer were an expected occurrence. With standards that seemed intentionally impossible to meet, it was known that anyone involved in planning or attending these events was at some level of risk. The goal was less about winning as much as it was to just not die. 

From our partners’ perspectives ? The week was fantastic, a smashing success. Five star dining, hotels and entertainment, combined with very productive meetings. For the employees? It was murder from the start. We were tortured every step of the way by our fear mongering leader. His presence was intense and his ability to shame very successful, grown men into full submission was astonishing to behold. He was horrifying to almost everyone, positioning his abusive behavior as a reasonable response when his compulsively high standards weren’t met (aka always).

I was low enough on the totem pole that I wasn’t a direct recipient of his vitriol but high enough to be in the rooms to witness it firsthand. The week became more about catering to him than it was our clients and because of my involvement in this trip, I was receiving feedback indirectly on a near constant basis. His displeasure was always something that needed to be felt by all involved regardless of your position.

An example: I had helped coordinate a lunch in an olive grove at a gorgeous vineyard outside of San Diego. From the perspective of our guests, the lunch was idyllic, lovely; a five-course lunch paired with wine and Southern California sunshine. For the rest of us: it was silent yet total annihilation.

My Blackberry (glued to my hand) vibrates as the first email comes in. Here we go. Subject says “Fwd: Urgent”. My heart starts beating faster. I’m sitting at the table with two of my top accounts, attempting to appear engaged & interesting in conversation while trying to read the furious update. Stay focused, stay calm: They can’t know what I am dealing with. Forwarded from my boss, this one was a thread with three other executives who were seated at this very table. As expected, Captain Nightmare was berating us all about how we are idiots because of something he disliked with the seating arrangement. Nothing to be done about it now. His poorly timed email was purely an outlet for expressing unproductive rage eg. a temper tantrum. 

Fury emailing us like a psychopath under the table, his venomous fingers focused more on traumatizing those in their wake than helping the situation.

It went like this all week. Every single interaction was highly dramatized and intense. Two people eventually lost their jobs.

I was a shell of myself by the end of it all.

Part III: The Breakdown

The truth is when I was “offered” that shot I was already standing on the balcony, ready to jump. The push provided a scapegoat, but I suspect I was so fried I would have jumped regardless.

This man’s presence affected me deeply. I became frightened, weak, beaten down. What was astonishing was how fast it happened; how quickly I started to believe he was right when he called us incompetent and stupid. But it was me who ultimately drank the tequila.

That first shot sent a hot of electricity up my neck. For the first time all week, I felt a spark of courage… and familiarity. I wanted more. Another round, bottom’s up. I felt the second shot’s warmth in my shoulders, like a chemical massage. I knew the rest of the night was no longer my own. 

The grip alcohol has on me is catastrophic. As soon as the liquid touches my lips, first sip: it’s over. A switch flips immediately. I lose full control of my ability to say no and I will steamroll through any obstacle that gets in my way of getting more.  

After those first two shots, we hung out a little longer and then the entire group walked back to the hotel. No one had any idea the full weight of what had just happened. Not their fault, even my boss didn’t know how consequential it all really was for me, so how could they? As the group chatted giddily on the walk back, relieved to have survived the week and finally be able to go home. Me? I was plotting my next move to keep the night going. When we got back to the hotel, I said my goodbyes and said I had to talk to the front desk about something. As soon as they were out of sight, I marched right back out into the darkness of the night, to finish what I had started.

I do not remember much from that night. I recall near to nothing, but I DO know it wasn’t good. I do know I got back to the hotel in the morning fully wasted, just in time to throw my stuff in a bag and grab a taxi to the airport. I DO know I was in a bad spot on the plane home and continued drinking until I passed out. I DO know I arrived in JFK looking exactly like the night I had.  But I may never know what actually happened.

Part IV: Reflection

Blackouts have plagued over 70% of the encounters I have had with alcohol in my life. Half of those blackouts were almost entire nights lost, just like the one I had in San Diego.

Sometimes I think the blackouts are for my own protection; a mechanism to block the memories of events I participated in that I hadn’t consciously agreed to. Secrets perhaps best kept locked away…

From I what I have heard from others, even at the deepest depths of these blackouts, I am able to speak coherently, without slurring or falling on myself. Full functioning to the untrained eye. To a friend, the level of intoxication would be be obvious; to strangers? Drunk but conscious. The discussion around consent becomes very complicated when you can’t remember anything at all.

Accountability matters. It’s also empowering. I don’t feel like a victim because I am not a victim. I made my own decisions and kept drinking despite knowing what could happen. Alcohol makes me feel powerful, brave, sexy, dangerous, beautiful and better than any other drug that exists. Blackouts were just a price for admission, a steep one, sure, but one I consciously accepted.

That job? I quit it as soon as I got back to New York on the grounds of not wanting work for a sociopath, despite how much I loved my direct boss. I walked away from a career that was on an incredibly fast trajectory, on track to be VP by 30, something that matters alot to me back then. Until I saw my future in those men that week. I lost respect in myself, in them and in the whole organization and knew I had no choice but move on. I left without something lined up and eventually dove headfirst into a totally new industry.

I didn’t know it at the time but that night would change the course of my life beyond comprehension.

Part V: Renewal

To realize you can emerge from the wreckage you first must get wrecked.

Who and where I am now is due to everything that has happened before. 

That includes the hard parts. The darkest parts. That night in San Diego… the many before.

Taking that shot opened old wounds that hadn’t fully healed, setting off a cascade of problems in the following years. But those challenges led me to everything after, to where I am now… where I am going.

Who would I even be today if all of that hadn’t happened? I am not sure I would want to know.

Sounds weird, but I am deeply grateful to the gentleman who pressured me to take that shot of tequila on that spring night in Southern California.

He is as critical to my growth as anyone.

Cheers to you, sir.