Cindy

Droog

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September 29, 2008

Ban the Lunch and Learn, Please

I’ve done a lot of things on my lunch hour.

Nearly every single day, I work through it, so I can pick my kids up as soon as possible and get them home for dinner and family time. About once every three weeks, I manage to meet a friend or a former colleague, just to keep up on a miniscule amount of personal and professional scoop.

But lately, I’ve been invited to a strangely large number of the dreaded of all noontime activities: The Lunch and Learn.

Where exactly do I start when it comes to boycotting this corporate juggernaut, which requires such devotion to one’s career and such propensity for utter boredom?

First, there’s the name. Old. Tired. If I was invited to just one of these that somebody dared to call “Eat and Educate” instead, or even “Masticate and Master,” I’d probably go, just to show my support of their creativity.

Instead, like most people I know, I “Chew and Do.” Do the grocery shopping. Do the get-the-gift-for-the-friend’s-daughter’s-birthday-party thing. Do the stop at daycare. Do the nap in my car. (Only when I was pregnant, I swear.)

Second, there’s the expectations. I once had a client who hosted Lunch ‘n Learns (the ‘n makes the event so much cooler than the “and” would), and every month, would wonder why we couldn’t get any journalists to come and sit through it, and why on earth the media wouldn’t publicize it beforehand.

Of course, the response, “If you can’t get people there, how do you expect me to get the media there?” never worked. Instead, I’d find an angle, talk to a different journalist than last time, and once in every 10 or 12 months, luck out with a slow news day or a green reporter who actually did want to learn about off-site network backup programs.

The hosts of every Lunch and Learn I’ve ever been to always start their speeches out the same way, with “We’re going to wait a few more minutes for the rest of the guests to arrive.” One guy trickles in 10 minutes later, but you can see by the looks on their faces that 10 to who-know-how-many-more were expected.

So, at 12:10 p.m., the next line is usually something to the effect of:

“Everybody go ahead and move up to the front. Just one or two more rows. We’ve got more room than expected (shocker). Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here (awkward laughter).”

I do prefer the Lunch and Learns when no icebreaker ensues. After all, one uncomfortable introduction is enough for me during one lunch hour.

Finally, there’s the “learning” part. Maybe I’m not the sharpest crayon in the box, but it typically takes me longer than an hour to learn something. In college, I preferred once-a-week night classes, as I found my professors and fellow students just starting to warm up after the first hour. And actually learning from each other, fostering dialogue, and problem-solving.

The Lunch and Learn leaves no room for that. Although at one particularly successful one, I did learn how to turn on my Blackberry. After that, the instructors lost me, which I blame on all the pretty graphics and photo-taking features.

Does anyone really, truly enjoy and find value in the Lunch and Learn? As for me, I’d rather lunch and lactate, and trust me – that is torture. Often, when I think back on the many weeks in a row in which I did do that after returning from maternity leave, it was actually more enjoyable than a Lunch and Learn.

So, once corporate America solves the banking crisis, ends internal presentations and bans Power Point software, I can only hope that the Lunch and Learn is next on their list!

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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