Losing the lights opened our eyes to each other

I didn't like the person I was becoming at the office. Somewhere along the way, I'd morphed into an unfriendly colleague.

I was born an extrovert and I thrive in social settings. My role managing guest relations and donations for the corporate office of a popular restaurant chain is perfect for my outgoing personality. I have even received letters and e-mails from customers praising my sincerity and cheerful disposition.

Unfortunately, I hadn't been as friendly to colleagues at work. I often deliberately isolated myself as I strove to carve out enough time to complete my tasks. If a fellow employee came by my desk, I'd avoid eye contact to relay to that person that I didn't have a minute for them. I'd send e-mail instead of calling, offering a hand-written note, or speaking face to face.

My extremely busy work schedule didn't allow for small talk with my co-workers, and I was not alone in this behavior. We'd all do it -- not because we're unkind, but because we simply didn't have the time. We work late, some on Saturdays. Many often skip lunch breaks.

Then one day, Mother Nature stepped in and disciplined me with a firm hand.

One Friday, our windowless office went completely dark. The power had gone out. We couldn't work without lamps and computers. Like blind mice in a maze, we felt our way out of our cubicles and gathered near the emergency light.

Initially, we joked about starting the weekend early. Each of us felt sure the power would come back on any minute. When a half an hour passed, we took refuge in the conference room -- the only room with windows. Outside, we saw the storm had zapped the entire office park.

We sat around a long table -- the first impromptu gathering of our business-casual motley crew. We smiled and shifted nervously in our chairs. It was ridiculously awkward. We had to speak. We could not type. I was flipping through a work-related magazine when our CFO asked us to share our work with the group.

My eyes opened wide and I set aside my reading material. I listened with interest to everyone's contribution to our corporate machine. Slowly, I started to realize I had no idea what went on in each department, no idea what each person was responsible for . As we began to open up, things got humorous with stories about office mishaps, poor interviews, and misspoken words to a client.

Then suddenly, Sarah came bombing into the office on her cell phone, yelling for everyone. She dropped several bags, books, stacks of brochures, and her lunch around the first seat she found open.

Her entrance reminded me that it was her birthday and the folks in HR had bought her a cake. I snuck away to get it. Sarah almost blew the surprise when she jumped up, left the conference room and urgently navigated her way through our pitch-black workspace near where I was lighting the candles in an otherwise dark office. She was oblivious. This made all of us laugh out loud.

Our celebration led to conversations about parties and milestones . It reminded me of days at summer camp and the stories we shared around the fire. Jane in accounting told us how her husband proposed by recreating parts of the movie ``Say Anything" in a rented theatre. A typically reserved co-worker, Jane looked different to me then.

I told the group about a book I was reading on how animals deal with trauma. It revealed to them my surprising interest in psychology, which my workmates may have never known otherwise.

When all of the females stood up and took the only flashlight to the restroom, it prompted a discussion about why women do things, like go to the bathroom, in packs. One man spoke up and said, ``Well, we do that too, especially if we're drinking beers at a Sox game!" ``Yeah!" the men shouted. Then the room got very quiet and Melvin mumbled, ``Not me. . . . I still need a little privacy."

The next thing we knew, after three hours of darkness, the power came on. In the end, our boss let us leave early.

Come Monday morning, I saw my co-workers differently. They were no longer fellow slaves to the job or e-mail addresses in a directory. They were people with interests, desires, concerns, and ideas, who were worthy of my time. I made a point to say hello. I stopped and asked about their families. I listened with interest to their responses. Friendships started to develop. I wrote fewer e-mails to people sitting 5 feet from my desk. The lunchroom began to fill up. Our work environment had some life to it. We no longer suffered from a power outage.

Weeks later, our bonding paid off for me in a big way. I was in a huge bind. There was a delay with our printer and I had 500 invites to get out and one hour to do it in. So I asked for help.

Everyone met back up in the conference room, where we had spent that time together during the outage. It was cheerful and efficient, like Santa's workshop. My co-workers quickly got to work. I knew this meant some of them would have to stay late to finish their own work. Still, they chose to help me.

Together, we met the deadline and got all of the invitations in the mail. I was filled with gratitude. I got a nod and a thumb's up from my boss. He was pleased because I got the job done. I was pleased because I didn't go it alone.

It was proof that sometimes the most productive thing we can do at work is connect with those we work with each day.