Somewhere in 2017, over 100 employees boarded planes for what was marketed as a “corporate retreat.”

You know the type. Growth. Bonding. Vision. Probably a PowerPoint with the word synergy in it.

What they got instead? A fever dream.

This is what supposedly happen but recall can certainly have been embellished.  But the embellishments are part of the story anyway.

A CEO taken out by a salad. Undercooked meat. Fleas treating humans like an all-you-can-eat buffet. A former Navy SEAL running “team-building exercises” in 100-degree heat like this was a deleted scene from Survivor: HR Violations Edition. At least one person allegedly eating a tarantula. Which, I’m sorry, is not team-building, that’s a cry for help.

And yet, nobody left.

This is where it gets interesting.

Because long before the first ant hill, the first power outage, the first “is that a rash or am I evolving?” moment there was a psychological contract. We are here. We committed. This is supposed to be good for us.

And humans are remarkably committed to not breaking the narrative.

So we stay.

We stay when the food looks questionable. We stay when the logistics collapse. We stay when someone says, “This will build resilience,” and what they mean is, “You might pass out.”

It’s called escalation of commitment. Or if we’re being honest. We already paid for this, so now we’re emotionally invested in the chaos.

Add a little groupthink. No one wants to be the first to say, “Are we okay with the tarantula situation?”And, suddenly the absurd becomes normalized.

This is how smart, capable adults end up stranded on an island, itchy, dehydrated, and questioning every life decision that led them there while still attending the evening debrief.

Because leaving would mean admitting that this wasn’t transformative. It was just a bad idea with a budget.

Here’s the quiet lesson underneath the spectacle. Not everything that is framed as growth is growth.
Sometimes it’s just discomfort with branding.

Real growth doesn’t require public insect consumption, mystery injections, or survival drills led by someone who thinks your quarterly goals are best achieved through heat exhaustion.

Real growth is a little less cinematic. A little less performative. And significantly less bitey.

And if your “team-building” experience requires you to ask, “Is this safe?” or “Is this normal?” or “Why is there a tarantula involved?”

You are allowed to leave.

No trust fall required.