The Team Lunch

The restaurant was close enough that the team described the lunch as practically next door. This phrase survived until twelve colleagues divided themselves among four cabs and discovered that proximity did not produce synchronised arrival.

Nandita had organised the booking. She sent the exact entrance, the reservation name and a sensible departure time. People still left in stages because one person needed water, another needed a charger, and a third said they would just finish a quick message.

The first cab departed with three people who treated leaving as an action. The second contained three people who treated it as a short discussion. The third waited for a lift. The fourth contained Nandita, her colleague Bharat and the person responsible for the quick message.

All drivers followed their own safe routes and road conditions. None had been hired to compete. The passengers’ group chat, however, began interpreting the journey as an event with standings.

First group reached.

Second group delayed a little.

Third group asking which entrance.

Fourth group still explaining that the restaurant had only one entrance matching the photograph already sent.

Nandita sat belted in the back and supplied the details quietly through her phone. Their driver, Anwar, concentrated on the road. She made it clear that there was no need to hurry. The lunch could survive an uneven start.

At the restaurant, the first group ordered water, then starters. A photograph appeared in the chat. It showed three cheerful faces and a plate of food with suspiciously little remaining.

Bharat looked at the message.

“They’ve started without us.”

“They’re hungry,” Nandita said.

“So are we.”

“Yes. Hunger is not currently distributed by arrival time.”

He accepted this but requested that the late cab be allocated dessert priority as compensation. She said he could present the proposal once they were all at a table rather than turn Anwar’s vehicle into a finance meeting.

The second group arrived. The third discovered the correct entrance and joined them. The fourth remained on the way, receiving updates about the increasingly theoretical survival of the starters.

Bharat suggested asking the restaurant to preserve three portions. Nandita sent a clear request, which worked immediately. The group did not need resentment when a practical sentence could solve the food allocation.

When their cab reached the proper drop-off area, they thanked Anwar, checked their belongings and walked inside. Nobody sprinted through traffic to rescue a spring roll.

The table cheered. Bharat accepted the welcome as if returning from a difficult expedition. The reserved starters were waiting. Nandita sat down and asked everyone to stop discussing the route long enough to enjoy the lunch.

They did. The food was good. The conversation was better. One colleague explained that their cab had paused near a school pickup, another described an amusing billboard, and the person with the quick message finally admitted it had not been quick.

Aarti had arrived in the second cab and therefore possessed enough distance from both victory and grievance to mediate. She asked whether everyone had eaten properly before allowing the dessert discussion to become a formal institution.

At dessert, Bharat presented his compensation proposal. He wanted the last arrivals to receive the first choice because they had endured a longer period of looking at food photographs.

Their finance colleague, Aarti, considered this with a completely serious expression.

“Emotional delay is not an approved expense category.”

The table laughed. Bharat appealed. Aarti offered to split the dessert fairly, which was what everyone actually wanted.

Back at the office, Nandita saved a note for the next outing: choose the travel arrangement deliberately, build a realistic buffer, and order enough starters to survive the group chat.

Bharat added one final comment.

“No photographs until all parties have access to the food.”

Read when you’re a passenger or safely off the road. Never while driving.