One of the most ironic misnomers in the English language is the phrase “breakout session.” The breakout session is a reference to a specific type of meeting-within-a-meeting, and it carries the typical semantic vagueness of the darkly impersonal. A breakout session typically happens at a conference—generally, an all-day one, in which you are sitting perfectly motionless and listening to multiple speakers. The ones who announce breakout sessions expect that you will love the idea, even though anyone who’s ever attended one understands it to be Dante’s First Circle of Hell.
The most annoying people at any conference are, of course, the ones who announce to everyone that they’re having a great time and really like the speakers. The normal people are the ones trying desperately to stay awake and maintain some hold on sanity. They are working overtime, mentally, to keep from running, cackling, from the conference room in zig-zag patterns. The way these conferences are designed, the breakout session is carefully timed to coincide with that very last minute that the attendee can tolerate sitting in the First Meeting before they snap. Just at the point in which the attendee has finally decided to set themselves on fire because they cannot tolerate even 60 more seconds of listening to the speaker, someone will announce, in a gay airy voice, “it’s time for the breakout session!” The reason that people seem generally excited about this is because lives have, quite literally, been saved.
Of course, it’s all a horrifyingly brutal joke—because the breakout session is simply another meeting. Yep. More speakers. Only in this one, you don’t have a large crowd to provide you with cover, like you did in the First Meeting. In the breakout session, you can’t get away with drawing funny pictures, texting, or making funny faces; it’s just you and 10 other people and the speaker, and now you have to act like the annoying people who are just tickled to be there.
The breakout session is poorly named, mostly because of the other thoughts that come to the forefront of your consciousness when the term is employed. Was it titled a Breakout Session because the attendee feels like breaking out the window on the top floor and leaping to his death? Or because he entertained the fleeting thought of breaking out the speaker’s teeth in front of the horrified (but secretly grateful) audience? Or because the attendee feels like breaking out of the conference entirely and headed to wherever 90 proof alcohol is being served?
There are no correct answers here. Only the disturbing truth that there will continue to be conferences, mostly because there are people who require other people to attend conferences. And also because many of those people attending the conferences are putting on a smile and pretending to enjoy the conference. I cannot abide the thought that they are genuinely enjoying this; to come to this awful realization would be cause for the total annihilation of civilization. No, we cannot do away with the conference—because there are Those Who Love To Hear Their Teeth Chatter. But at least we can break out the smiling jackanapes who acts like this is the perfect day for him, and we can lock him in his own session to smile winsomely at his reflection in the mirror.
Now THAT would a breakout session I could be in favor of.
The most annoying people at any conference are, of course, the ones who announce to everyone that they’re having a great time and really like the speakers. The normal people are the ones trying desperately to stay awake and maintain some hold on sanity. They are working overtime, mentally, to keep from running, cackling, from the conference room in zig-zag patterns. The way these conferences are designed, the breakout session is carefully timed to coincide with that very last minute that the attendee can tolerate sitting in the First Meeting before they snap. Just at the point in which the attendee has finally decided to set themselves on fire because they cannot tolerate even 60 more seconds of listening to the speaker, someone will announce, in a gay airy voice, “it’s time for the breakout session!” The reason that people seem generally excited about this is because lives have, quite literally, been saved.
Of course, it’s all a horrifyingly brutal joke—because the breakout session is simply another meeting. Yep. More speakers. Only in this one, you don’t have a large crowd to provide you with cover, like you did in the First Meeting. In the breakout session, you can’t get away with drawing funny pictures, texting, or making funny faces; it’s just you and 10 other people and the speaker, and now you have to act like the annoying people who are just tickled to be there.
The breakout session is poorly named, mostly because of the other thoughts that come to the forefront of your consciousness when the term is employed. Was it titled a Breakout Session because the attendee feels like breaking out the window on the top floor and leaping to his death? Or because he entertained the fleeting thought of breaking out the speaker’s teeth in front of the horrified (but secretly grateful) audience? Or because the attendee feels like breaking out of the conference entirely and headed to wherever 90 proof alcohol is being served?
There are no correct answers here. Only the disturbing truth that there will continue to be conferences, mostly because there are people who require other people to attend conferences. And also because many of those people attending the conferences are putting on a smile and pretending to enjoy the conference. I cannot abide the thought that they are genuinely enjoying this; to come to this awful realization would be cause for the total annihilation of civilization. No, we cannot do away with the conference—because there are Those Who Love To Hear Their Teeth Chatter. But at least we can break out the smiling jackanapes who acts like this is the perfect day for him, and we can lock him in his own session to smile winsomely at his reflection in the mirror.
Now THAT would a breakout session I could be in favor of.
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