The Chicken Dance

There’s not much to do here but work. KBR folks here run a great Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) program that includes Karaoke Nights, Movie Nights, Salsa and Swing Dance Lessons but these activities tend to be frequented more by people with less demanding work schedules than those of us in the military. Still, every night, at 2100 sharp, the North Ballroom formally ends the day’s (and night’s) work with the Chicken Dance. When first described to me, I was sure I didn’t understand. “You know, the ‘Chicken Dance’? they said, “That song they play at baseball games and weddings?” I explained that, having grown up in southern California, I was unfamiliar with it. But, okay, so they play the Chicken Dance. “Oh, we throw things back and forth at each other.” “Like what?” I asked. “Nerf balls, Frisbees, decks of cards, whatever lands in our office area.” This is possible because our office pens don’t have ceilings. Like the ballroom’s original function, no one quite knew who originally started this peculiar tradition or, for that matter, who actually played the music. The wooden office pens prevent anyone from seeing over to the next area.

As it got closer to 2100, one of my co-workers produced a Turkey Call. I heard it before seeing it. This seemed to spark whistling and general anticipation from other denizens of the ballroom. Soon, quite close by, I heard the strains of the immediately recognizable Chicken Dance song. Some people sang along wordlessly, others clapped during the chorus. And, of course, all manners of nerf-like objects started flying through the air. My co-workers produced a cardboard box and passed around tennis balls and other sundry missiles which we launched to other office areas.

At one point, a somewhat substantial ball, a little smaller than a volleyball, bounced close to me. I though, hey, why not launch it like a volleyball? I lobbed it into the air and hit it in an overhand serve which careened just below the wall of our office pen and into a horizontally mounted fluorescent bulb assembly. The force of the collision dismounted the bulb and spun it onto the lip of the office wall. It hovered there momentarily and then fell over into the next office pen. This, of course, elicited great whoops and laughing from my co-workers who were happy to see the new guy commit such a faux paux.

After the song ended, I went to the next office pen and found, to my relief, that the occupants had left earlier in the evening. The bulb however had shattered on impact with a desk that housed their coffee maker and coffee-related materials. Another co-worker and I grabbed a broom and dust bin and we cleaned everything up. As far as I know, they are none the wiser. Thankfully, my actions did not result in any new nicknames around the office. The next night, the Army colonel who runs our office was told about my gaffe. He looked at me sternly and said, “Have your wife teach your kid sports.”