This is part of a series relating the adventures of Fraser and Thatcher on
a training tour in Disney World. Since all kinds of brand names and
corporations are mentioned through the course of this epic, let me make it
clear I own none of them, and I have used them purely for the purposes of
free entertainment, and will make no personal gain from this. The due
South characters belong to Alliance, not me. Disney World belongs to some
huge publicly owned conglomerate, not me. I hope they don't sue me for
some of the liberties I take in this series. I acknowledge the role of
Disney in the American Culture, and recognize it as a national resource.
As far as I know, there is no Gorilla Compound Apartment complex at Disney
World, and if there is, I am sure it doesn't look like the one I invented.
 

I also acknowledge that management training seminars are a foundation of
the international economy, but do not need to be taken as seriously as
Disney. The management theories presented in this series are, hopefully,
specious. 

This series assumes that season 3/4 did not take place; that Ray and the
Riv are still around; that Thatcher never cut her hair or got as strange
as she did toward the end, but that Fraser's apartment was burned down and
he did live for a while at the Consulate.  

RATING: PG  

Comments should be directed to tomato_3@excite.com 

 

Adventures in Mouseland - The Arrival  

Sunday - Day 0 - by Pin 

 

Fraser took one step off the jet and said "Good Lord!" as he felt the
brief flash of damp, dense air that the seal around the Jetway connection
couldn't quite keep out. Then the air conditioning being pumped up the
walkway from the airport terminal took over. He hoped that the sensation
he had just experienced might be false, a chimera brought on by reading
too many dire descriptions of the Florida summer heat. He hoped. 

Ben and Meg had gone to Ottawa enough times in their tenure together to
have the drill down fairly well by now. He went to get the luggage while
she got the car. Since Ben seemed to be able to get anything he ever
needed into his backpack, it usually meant that he was getting Meg's
luggage. He'd noticed that over the course of the time that they had been
working together the amount of luggage she took on trips seemed to be
shrinking. He was somewhat surprised when she handed him only one claim
check this time. 

"Pardon me. Sir, but you have only one bag?" He couldn't keep the tone of
muted surprise out of his voice. She looked at him with a slight frown. 

"Fraser, I gave you one claim check. I can't very well ask you to get bags
that I don't have claim checks for, now can I? Yes, I have one bag. If you
must know, I decided to set myself something of a challenge to see if I
could do it." She said the last with a very small smile. Nodding he turned
to baggage claim, hoping that he would be able to lift any suitcase that
Meg Thatcher had been able to pack with clothing for two weeks. She
grimaced at his comment. He didn't have to know that she'd set that almost
impossible challenge as a way of distracting herself from fretting over
the next two weeks.  

As always, Meg drove and Ben acted as navigator. There was little of the
latter to actually do, since all main routes had clearly marked signs for
Disney World. It was inescapable. The only good thing that Meg could see
was that it was unlikely they could get lost, although she was traveling
with Benton Fraser, who as far as she knew had never been lost in his
life; at least not geographically. Sometimes she wondered about his
emotional grounding, however.  

~ Don't go there Meg, you've barely gotten off the plane. ~ She glanced at
her traveling companion, who seemed to be focused on absorbing his
surroundings, studying the differences between where he'd been and where
he was now. 

~ Stop thinking about her. Look, palm trees! Think about the vegetation;
think about the heat; think about the God-awful humidity!! Work on trying
to convince your hypothalamus that you have always lived in a swamp and
that 90% humidity is the natural order of things. Stop thinking about the
fact that you are moving toward some appointment with destiny. You are
going to school, nothing more. ~  

The first awkward bit occurred at the resort check-in. They were listed as
being part of the seminar, with both of their names clearly shown on the
reservation. It was just that next little logical leap that the desk clerk
made to assume that they were 'together'. This time Fraser was checking
in, Fraser of the mortifyingly limited applicable experience, Fraser who
could never let a misinterpretation go uncorrected. Meg had been waiting
with the car, which she had double parked. She waited, and waited, and
waited, and finally parked the car in a newly opened spot and went into to
see what could possibly be holding things up. 

"As I'm trying to explain, we are together, in that we are both attending
a seminar on emerging management strategies. But I want you to understand,
that Inspector Thatcher and I are not together in the way that I think
that you mean. It would be most -" She should have known. Only Fraser
would try to correct a wrong impression with a desk clerk that they'd
never see again. 

"FRASER! What is the hold up here?" The desk clerk flinched at the tone of
command in Meg's voice. ~ Good! Maybe we can get to the apartment and
start dealing with the reality of how we are going to deal with reality. ~


"I apologize, Ma'am. I was just trying to correct the impression that Ms.
Morehouse had regarding our accommodations. I -" 

"Fraser, I don't think this young lady cares one way or the other about
our accommodations. Are we checked-in? Do we know how to get to -" She
looked at the envelope that Fraser had handed her containing her key and
the address of their apartment. She tried not to blush and failed.  

"Do we know how to get to 'Flights of Wonder' number 33? Good, now say
good bye to the nice lady and let's get out of here." She charged off for
the car, Fraser following. 

Ms. Morehouse turned to her fellow desk clerk. "You know they might have
gotten away with it, if they both didn't blush like the dickens when they
saw the section they were assigned." Laughing, they shook their heads and
turned back to their jobs. 

Arriving at the aforementioned accommodations, Meg and Ben stopped in
their tracks, stunned by the effect the Disney architects had created. A
veritable jungle of trees edged the parking lot, with only small paths
providing access. The unit numbers were posted on blocks of wood, with the
numbers apparently chewed out by some creature with small very sharp
teeth. Stepping off the path, Fraser was surprised to discover that what
looked like newly fallen leaves was in fact some spongy vinyl matting. 

"There is something very strange about an organization that would go to
the trouble of fabricating yards of matting to simulate dead leaves and
mulch, just to create a path. I have a feeling I'm going to find many very
creeping things on this trip." Meg muttered as she, too stepped onto the
path to their unit. To find said unit, the two intrepid adventurers had to
cross a swaying bridge and scale a staircase apparently carved from rock
(but actually cast concrete, with low level path lighting and non-skid
strips.) Their apartment was disguised as a treehouse, complete with
shredded bark exterior (also precast concrete) set on massive tree
branches (still more concrete, with additional artificial leaves.) It was
only when they actually reached the front door that Meg realized that the
exterior of the structure was covered with hundreds of faces of Disney
characters, morphed into animals. 

"I am going to have nightmares for the next two years, just on the basis
of this wall alone," she muttered to her companion before unlocking the
door to their 'nest'.  

Meg was relieved to see that it looked like a very nice apartment.
Tastefully decorated, not saturated with images of movies she'd secretly
watched in her childhood. One side of the apartment was taken up with the
two bedrooms and baths, which were essentially strung in a line: small
bedroom/bath, then master bath/large bedroom. On the other side of the
apartment was the living room/dining room and kitchen. All very neat and
reasonably impersonal, if one discounted multiple allusions to primate
behavior that were subtlety placed around the room. She chose to ignore
them. Of course, it was also possible that she was imagining that the
'magic eye' picture on the wall showed a partially clothed dark-haired man
and woman locked in a passionate embrace against a background of swaying
palm trees. Perhaps it really was only a picture of a lion snoozing under
a tree. Perhaps she'd watched the beach scene in "From Here to Eternity"
one too many times, too.  

Fraser, for his part, was still trying to determine if Disney had access
to some hidden file of animal physiology or if it had undertaken some form
of highly illegal recombinant DNA animal research to produce the creatures
displayed on the exterior of the unit. 

Giving up on that line of thought for the moment, Fraser quickly sized up
the layout of the apartment and selected the appropriate bedroom. Throwing
his backpack on one of the twin beds in the small bedroom, he then put
Meg's less-than-gigantic (being smaller than a steamer trunk) suitcase in
the large bedroom.  

She had taken a moment to look around. Now she was in full 'carpe diem'
mode. 

"Once we get settled, I think we should run by the seminar registration
area and check-in there, too. Then, it's off to the grocery store." Fraser
was a little surprised at this last stop. She correctly interpreted his
unasked question. 

"The grocery store is an absolute must, Fraser. My family used to have a
cottage on Vancouver Island. We'd go there every summer. The first thing
we did after we unpacked was to go to the grocery store. We have nothing
here that we didn't bring with us, and we can't live out of restaurants
for the next two weeks, it would cost a fortune. I cleared it with the E&T
Directorate, they pick-up all of the costs of the groceries. It's cheaper
than trying to live within the per diem for two weeks. So, we go grocery
shopping. I started making a list. Here, you can start adding your stuff
to it. Then we'll figure out what else we might need once we get there. In
the meantime, I'm going to unpack and change." With that she headed into
her bedroom.  

Closing the door, she sighed in relief. She'd made it through the first
wicket, just getting in the door. The place was laid out so that it was
actually possible for each of them to have their own space, thank God.
They'd just take it one step at a time and they'd make it. She mentally
crossed her fingers.   

~ I will know a dangerous situation when I see it. I just have to stop
having these 'Tarzan and Jane' images pop into my head like fireworks.
Fraser has not carried me off into his treetop lair to make wild
passionate love to me, as chimpanzees shriek and birds sing among the
branches. I do not own a leather bikini that he can strip from my
quivering body with a mere pull of a strategically placed string . . . . ~


Meg mentally acknowledged that Disney had created a very effective
atmosphere of the hot, steamy, sweaty, dark, mysterious jungle. But, she
was strong and committed to not giving into rampaging desires to feel his
lips all over her body. She would cope. She was, after all a respected
member of a respected organization. She had an image to maintain. In the
meantime, she might just take a moment to wash her face with very cold
water. 

A half-hour later, Meg emerged from her bedroom to find Fraser doing an
inventory of the kitchen equipment and supplies. Standing up from his
perusal of the cabinet under the sink, he discovered that Meg in shorts
and a tee shirt was a lot more of a challenge then Meg in slacks and a
jacket, primarily because there was more of Meg to see. He'd had no idea
that her legs went from there to well . . . . there. Clearly, his grasp of
basic human physiology had been impaired by the extremely tight control he
had exerted over his imagination where his boss was concerned. He found
himself staring at her feet, encased in tan sandals, each toenail painted
the exact shade of Mountie Red. He was mesmerized. Suddenly, every piece
of clothing on him felt . . . snug. 

Fraser had seen his boss in all manner of business attire, eveningwear and
the Mountie Red Serge. There was a formality to most of those occasions, a
structure that defined their interactions. Fraser realized that they both
had used social and situational strategies to define the scope and manner
in which he and the Inspector related to each other. It was equally
disconcerting to him to realize that he too was no longer able to hide
behind his uniform. Only rarely had he ever been around his boss when he
wasn't in uniform. Shorts, tee shirts and sandals had the impact of more
than revealing skin.  

He mentally promised himself to review his personal manual on 'the
relationship between clothes and behavior' which he had prepared soon
after he arrived in Chicago. He wasn't sure that he had written a section
of 'How to Relate to your boss when you both have significantly less
apparel on than in normal business hours, and she looks beautiful,
approachable, kissable . . . .' Perhaps he'd work on that section when he
couldn't sleep tonight. 

Meg too took a moment to assess the situation. She might have been
surprised to discover that they were both thinking many of the same
things. Actually, she might have been scared shitless. 

~ Good Lord, Fraser dressed for the beach is even more of a trial than
Fraser in uniform. I guess my theory that it was just all that Red Serge
that turned me on is another myth. He looks casual, relaxed, accessible.
Get a grip, Meg, and not on him!! ~ She tried to cover her pause by
digging in her purse.  

"Ready to go?" 

  

Seminar registration was in a suite in the Contemporary resort hotel.
Waiting for them were the seminar organizers, Peter Taylor. ("Call me
Pete, we don't stand on formality in these sessions.") and Jasmine Jacobs.
After introducing themselves, he handed Meg and Ben two very thick
envelopes. 

"Here's the basic orientation packet. If possible, We'd like you to read
it before we meet tomorrow. There is also a questionnaire we'd like you to
complete and bring with you tomorrow, too. As you'll see, the seminar is
composed of a combination of discussions, group activities, and team field
studies. Our goal, as you will see from the material, is to rebuild your
mental and emotional paradigm for collaborative teaming arrangements." Meg
had opened her package and was already skimming through the material as he
spoke. Fraser was concentrating on what the man was saying as well as the
myriad of other nonverbal information he was conveying. 

"What we've discovered is that teams, especially small teams, are most
likely to have fairly rigid structural relationships, relying on rank and
status to define relationships rather than capabilities. This tends to
sub-optimize the team efficiency. We've found that remolding these
relationships into a more personal, capabilities-based relationship
significantly improves the overall team effectiveness. So, with that end
in mind, we've designed a series of exercises to allow team members to get
to know each other better in contexts other than the purely official."	

At this Meg looked up from the papers in her hand to stare at Fraser just
as he turned to look at her. ~ Oh Dear! ~ 

"We've found that breaking down the barriers between team members, so that
they see the person beyond their everyday face is a critical component of
success." Pete smiled as he explained the basic tenets of his management
philosophy.  

Pete always liked to see how these high-powered types reacted to the idea
that they were going to have to step outside their personas in order to
succeed in this course. These two were interesting, since they seemed to
be reacting a little atypically - much more controlled. It was unusual to
see a team with that much restraint. Looking at the two of them - mid
thirties, good looking, no wedding rings, healthy, and standing just far
enough apart to not intrude on their personal space, but not so far apart
that they would be mistaken for not being together, hmmm. He looked down
at the registration sheet: Inspector Margaret Thatcher and Constable
Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  

Oh, now it was clear. These were the Mounties. It was unusual to have
Canadians in these seminars. From his experience, they tended to figure
things out in one of three ways: sit down with a large amount of beer and
talk about caribou, sit down with a large amount of beer and talk about
hockey, or go off into the woods. He wasn't sure where these two would
fall in that matrix, or if they had their own new category. Anything was
possible. He was pleased to have them in the seminar, however. He'd found
that Canadians tended to have a refreshingly different way of thinking
about things. 

"Thank you kindly for the information. We'll be sure to review it. We look
forward to seeing you tomorrow." Ben said with a smile. Turning to his
boss he said, "Sir," as if to see her wishes on the subject of leaving,
something not missed by Pete. 

"Oh, no, Ben. A basic rule of this seminar is 'NO TITLES'. For the next
two weeks, no one is allowed to call anyone by any title. No Sir's, No
Doctor's, No Professor's, No Inspector's, No Constable's. Only first names
will be used - both in sessions and out of sessions. Now, since it appears
that you two are not used to referring to each other by your given names,
you will have to practice this. Now let's hear you say it." Jasmine
explained. She watched as the two turned to face each other. After a long
pause, when she suspected that they were actually taking a deep breath,
Fraser finally said, 

"Meg." Jasmine was surprised that a person could pack as much feeling into
such a short sound. For some reason that she couldn't understand, she
thought of glaciers calving icebergs in the Spring thaw; of large chunks
of ice breaking apart and drifting out to sea. 

Meg, knowing what was required, and accepting all that went with this, was
able to say to Fraser, finally. 

"Ben." Jasmine was once again surprised. She'd never heard a woman's voice
sound so close to the deep peel of a Japanese temple bell. For a moment,
she thought she could actually feel the vibrations of Meg's voice as they
dissipated through the room. 

"There, that wasn't so hard, now was it? Why, with a little practice, I'm
sure that will come quite naturally to you. You won't even have to stop
and think about it." Pete was delighted.  

Meg muttered something under her breath as she turned toward the door,
leaping at the chance to escape. Only Fraser, of the hyper acute hearing
heard her say. "That's what I'm afraid of." She could have taken the words
right out of his mouth. This was stacking up to be a very risky learning
experience.  

Reaching the car at record speed, they stopped and stared at each other
over the top of the vehicle. As one they said  

"Groceries!" 

 

Later that evening. 

"They've checked in; I've met them." 

"So, what do you think?" 

"I'm in! I have never in my life seen two people with more repressed
desire who are still able to walk and talk at the same time. Jeez, how do
their coworkers take it? Is this some kind of Mountie endurance thing, or
something?" 

"Ha, I knew I was right! I knew you'd see what I see. They try to hide it;
they never give into it as far as I can see. And by inordinate good
fortune, they have two of the most oblivious people working with them that
you are ever likely to meet. But, this is not a really healthy situation,
and we have big plans for that consulate. I would really like to see this
get worked out one way or the other, so we can start with the next phase
of the transition." 

"Yeah, but most organizations do not encourage this kind of thing. Why are
you doing this if it will put them at risk?" 

"The plans we have will support this kind of situation, if it comes to
pass. Don't worry, I'm not intending them any harm." 

"Well, I'll keep you posted on the progress. Wish me luck!" 

 

Next: Grocery Shopping