It's often been said to me that users of the software developed by the company I work for exhibit cult-like tendencies. For example, we have a yearly trade show attended by several thousand eager users. I attended a couple of these in the mid-nineties, when I was a user myself, and I remember thinking that if you put your hands over your ears, you'd think you were at a Star Trek convention instead of a software conference.

After my three days at our end-of-the-year Western sales seminar in Newport Beach, I'm now of the opinion that the people who actually work here are the ringleaders of the cult. Nothing else could explain the glassy-eyed stare of one of the facilitators, as he intoned:

Every day, I ask myself these three things:

• Is what I'm doing today right for the company?
• Will this activity result in more sales?
• Am I growing my skill-set?

Perhaps he should add a fourth item to that list - "Do I have a life yet?" We spent three consecutive days together. The vast majority of attendees actually spent that time in each other's company for fully 24 hours per day, since most attended the company-sponsored dinners each night, and everybody had to share a room. Is this taking the concept of "team- player" just a trifle too far, perhaps?

The first item of business on day two of the seminar was a webcast from the President of our U.S. Division. She sat at a long desk in our video-broadcast studio, along with three of her politburo cohorts, and read stiffly from a teleprompter. The webcast followed a scripted question-and- answer format, with our dear president asking, in a monotone, questions like, "So, Jeff, how did our Mid-Atlantic Region do this year?" (all names have been changed to protect... err ...my identity.) "Well, Susan, I'm glad you asked...". At the end of each segment, the president would say something like "I really want to thank you for your hard work. Well done!", followed by a milisecond, steely, mechanical smile. It was quite hideous, and the overall effect wasn't helped by her over application of blush on her cheeks. The whole affair was rather like a puppet-show.

Day three saw me in a "break-out session" for technical folks. Fortunately, it was mostly just a series of presentations through which I could gently snooze in a corner. As the departure hour approached (that blessed time when we could all race off to the airport), my new boss stalked up to the podium and encouraged us to give feedback on the three days. I hoisted my hand, but quickly lowered it again, as she finished her introduction and said that she was looking to find out (of course), what were our "key take-aways". Since I'd had the intention of giving some constructive criticism, that kind of feedback would obviously not fit in with the Disney moment my boss was looking for.

Thursday night, back home in San Francisco. A light rain had left the tiled walkways of the Embarcadero slick and slippery. Jed and I, dressed somewhat formally for once, walked over to the Hyatt for my company's Holiday party. Last year's party had been pretty great - dinner in a French restaurant, lots of free wine - Brett and I had had a blast sitting at the "gay" table (the only table generating obvious gaiety). This year however, if you looked into the cavernous, brightly-lit ballroom where about forty people clustered sadly around a table of appetizers, you'd immediately think "company party". At one end of the room, a disk-jockey sat alone behind his turntables, and scattered around were a few small, portable Christmas trees.

Jed is rarely the life-and-soul of a party; he's even more reserved than I am, but he makes a good effort. Before long, he was in conversation with the husband of my boss, an old, defeated-looking man wearing a tie patterned after "A Hundred-And One Dalmations". At least homosexuality was well represented - there were at least three other gay couples, and we clung to each other in a little, bright-eyed conversational group, along with Donna, the director of HR. Mid-way through the evening, inevitably, some of the women were out on the dance-floor, bopping away to mid-eighties disco. My eyes opened as I saw my boss kick off her high-heels to dance with Joy, the diva lesbian office-manager. Jeez, drunken office parties - some people are going to regret it the day after, I thought. And this is probably the last office party Jed will let me invite him to.

The ultimate Dilbert moment came at 8.45 precisely, fifteen minutes before the party was timed to end, when the staff of the Hyatt came in and started wheeling out the portable Christmas trees. And, believe it or not, our office had a successful sales year in 2000 - I can't wait to see what our party is like when we have a bad year.