Another Club, Another Performance Review

So, there I was, ready to embrace my new position at a high-end private club, thinking I’d traded in my previous boss for a world of sophistication and elegance. I envisioned myself sipping artisanal lattes while discussing the latest breakthroughs in plyometrics and its application to speed gains with some of the brightest minds in the industry. Little did I know, my transition would resemble an episode of "Whose Line Is It Anyway?"—minus the laugh track and with a lot more confusion.

When I first stepped into the club, I was greeted by an ambiance that screamed, “You’ve made it!” The chandeliers sparkled like they were auditioning for a role in a Hollywood blockbuster, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and freshly polished wood. I thought, “Finally, I’m in a place where professionalism reigns!” Fast forward to my first performance review with my boss, a man whose dating tales could rival a Seinfeld episode. Picture this: a middle-aged gentleman with a penchant for puns and a collection of awkward dating stories that could fill a novel. I was practically giddy with anticipation—surely this review would be thorough and insightful, right?

As we settled into a plush leather booth, I prepared myself for a deep dive into my performance. Instead, I got five minutes of him nodding approvingly and saying, “You’re enjoying it, right?” I blinked. Was this a review or a casual chat in passing? I wasn’t sure if I should be taking notes or diving deeper, forcing my need for knowledge and approval. And just like that, the meeting transitioned from a performance review to a downtown bar crawl. One moment I was discussing my KPIs (albeit all 2 minutes of that), and the next, I was being handed a cocktail menu. “Let’s celebrate!” he exclaimed, as if we had just secured a multi-million dollar deal instead of merely discussing my ability to show up on time.

As the night progressed, we made it to our 4th establishment of the night (my memory is foggy) and I realized that in this high-end club, similarly to the industry I chose to devote myself to, booze was par for the course. Who needs constructive feedback when you can have a whiskey neat and a side of laughter? The more we drank, the more his stories flowed—each one more ridiculous than the last. I learned about his first date at a sushi restaurant where he accidentally ordered a dish with a name that sounded like a sneeze and the one lady he adored but didn't like grapes and he thought that was a red flag. At one point, I found myself in a debate about whether a martini should be shaken or stirred. Spoiler alert: we are club professionals, not James Bond and when your several drinks into the session, it really doesn't matter.

By the end of my so called performance review, unknowingly I had acquired a wealth of knowledge—however none of which was related to my job or performance. Instead, I learned that high-end private clubs are less about your performance and day to day duties but heavily weighed on the face you can put on for its constituents. I came for the professionalism and stayed for the absurdity. So here I was, navigating my new role with the realization that sometimes, the best reviews come with a side of laughter and a generous pour of your favorite drink. Who knew transitioning to a high-end private club would turn into a comedy show? If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, remember: when life hands you a five-minute performance review, grab a cocktail and enjoy the ride. Cheers!

The Anonymous Club Professional