So, you’re asking about ‘the crown auction’? Yeah, I’ve got a story about that. It’s one of those things that sounded like a bit of fun at first, but man, did it get out of hand fast.
How It All Started
We kicked this thing off at my old company, “Innovate Solutions” – or something equally generic. The idea, at least on paper, was pretty straightforward. Someone in HR read an article, I guess, and suddenly we were all supposed to be boosting ‘synergy’ and ‘engagement.’ Part of that grand plan involved getting this ridiculously cheap plastic crown. I’m talking the kind of thing you’d find in a kid’s party favor bag.
The initial pitch was to hold an ‘auction’ every Friday afternoon. People would use some kind of play money or points to ‘bid’ on who got to be the ‘office royalty’ for the coming week. It sounded harmless enough at the time, maybe even a little bit silly, which we thought could be good.
The Grand Process and What We ‘Won’
Well, the ‘bidding’ wasn’t with real cash, which was probably the only smart decision made in this whole affair. We used these internal ‘Bravo Points’ – you know, the ones you accumulated for staying late or fixing the printer, but could never actually redeem for anything substantial. So, we’d all troop into the breakroom. One guy, let’s call him Mike from Marketing, always volunteered to be the auctioneer. He clearly thought he was missing his true calling on some shopping channel.
Now, what did the ‘winner’ get for their hard-earned Bravo Points and public display of enthusiasm? The prize package usually included stuff like:
- The distinct honor of wearing the aforementioned tacky plastic crown. All week.
- The ‘premium’ parking spot, which, to be honest, was only marginally better than any other spot.
- Control over the office Sonos speaker for one hour on Friday afternoon – this always, and I mean always, led to disagreements.
- Sometimes, they’d throw in choosing the takeout for the ‘team lunch,’ if the budget allowed that month.
You’d think most grown adults wouldn’t really care much. But you’d be wrong. It got surprisingly competitive. I saw folks who were normally quiet as church mice suddenly bidding like their life savings were on the line. People started hoarding their Bravo Points for weeks, forming little bidding cartels. It was honestly like watching a really low-budget reality TV show unfold every Friday.
My Entanglement in This Whole Affair
Now, you might be wondering how I got such a front-row seat to this spectacle. Well, here’s the kicker: I was on the committee that dreamt this whole thing up. Or rather, I was in the room when it was suggested, and I didn’t have the foresight to scream “No!” I think I even mumbled something like, “Oh, that could be a bit of a laugh.” Famous last words.
I remember being tasked with sourcing the crown. I spent a whole lunch break looking for something that was “regal yet ironic.” Then I had to help draft the “rules of engagement” for the auction. I even volunteered to be the first ‘winner’ just to get the ball rolling. Walking around with that plastic thing on my head while trying to look serious in meetings was a unique experience.
My initial hope was it’d be a quick, five-minute distraction. But it rapidly ballooned. The auctions started dragging on. People began complaining about the fairness of the Bravo Point distribution. Instead of boosting morale, it just seemed to give people another thing to grumble about. I did try, a couple of times, to suggest we dial it back, or maybe just quietly forget it existed. But by then, a couple of the department heads had decided it was a “visible indicator of team engagement” and loved to mention it in their reports. So, it stuck around, way longer than it should have.
How It Finally Died a Quiet Death
Thankfully, like most ill-conceived corporate initiatives, ‘the crown auction’ didn’t end dramatically. It just sort of… petered out. The Bravo Points system got a massive overhaul after a particularly bad quarter (surprise, surprise, shiny crowns didn’t fix underlying issues). And with the points system in flux, the auction just lost its fuel.
One Friday, Mike from Marketing didn’t even mention it. Nobody asked. We all just… got on with our work. It was a silent, mutual understanding. We’d all had enough.
I sometimes picture that plastic crown, probably buried under a pile of old keyboards and forgotten HR manuals in a storeroom somewhere. A dusty monument to an idea that was, let’s say, enthusiastically pursued but poorly thought through. We certainly practiced it, alright. Practiced it right into the ground.
