A Scene from Saw LXVIII: Conference Meeting Icebreaker
Eight strangers sit in a circle of folding chairs, dressed in various interpretations of business casual.
JIGSAW: Rise and shine, conference-goers. You’re probably wondering where you are. I’ll tell you where you might be. You might be in the room you die in. Or the Rose Room at the Best Western Kachina Village.
Gasps all around.
JIGSAW: I want to play a game. Two minutes from now, that timer above you will run out. You have until then to go around the circle and say your name, then a hobby you enjoy that corresponds with the first letter of your name. I’ll begin. I’m John, and I like juggling.
CONFERENCE GOER: Hey everyone. I’m Hannah, and I like hang-gliding.
The intros continue around the circle until SARAH, who is speechless and alarmingly sweaty.
JIGSAW: I’m afraid you have to play the game. Until now, you simply sat in the shadows, listening to others talk. Now it’s time to choose. Break the ice. Or fall through it. I’m talking specifically about you, Sarah. It’s your turn because we are taking turns in a clockwise fashion.
SARAH shakes her head.
JIGSAW: I know you, Sarah. You’ve been thinking about your answer ever since you heard the instructions. So much so that you’ve failed to hear the names of your fellow conference attendees. And yet, now you can’t recall a hobby beginning with the letter S, let alone one that you actually enjoy. A hobby you enjoy beginning with the same letter as the first letter of your first name, Sarah. The game is simple. The instructions are as clear as the ice we are now breaking.
But you’ve never been good at sharing fun facts about yourself, have you, Sarah?
Summer 1998. You failed to share your favorite color at Betty Bloomberg’s Craft-Centric Sleepaway Camp.
December 2005. Auntie Anne’s Pretzel kiosk. Your boss asked if you’d watched anything interesting lately, and you blanked and said you didn’t have a television even though you’d just finished Dawson’s Creek: The Complete Series with Dolby Digital Surround Sound.
Monday, April 3rd, 2023. First day of improv class at The Carl R. Rogers Center for Adult Education. When called upon to share your favorite song, you panic-blurted “Happy Birthday.” But we both know it was, and still is, “Your Body Is a Wonderland.”
SARAH: No. NO!
JIGSAW: Yes, and now, at this very moment, you have begun to doubt whether you can think of any word starting with the letter S, let alone an S-hobby. I’ll give you some S-words Sarah: Stalk. Suffocate. Sphygmomanometer, meaning an instrument used to measure blood pressure.
How is your blood pressure, Sarah? Because even if you name a hobby, you will spend the next two weeks lying awake at night, second-guessing your answer, won’t you? Questioning whether you even like said hobby. Worrying that it’s not remotely accurate or complete in conveying who you are to this group of strangers. This group of strangers with whom you share few to no commonalities, whether dreams, values, or taste in seasonal home decor.
This group of strangers—who you may never see again—and I—who you are also unlikely to see again—await your answer. Can you, Sarah, even name a hobby? Any hobby? With any letter? Can you recall what does and does not constitute a hobby?
It’s your turn, Sarah. We need an S-hobby—
SARAH: (sobbing) Please, just let me die.
The doors open. A homemade ventriloquist puppet tricycles into the room.
JIGSAW: This is Billy. Billy likes brewing beer.
BILLY circles the group and exits.
JIGSAW: See how easy that was? Four seconds, Sarah.
SARAH: Cycling! I like cycling!
The timer beeps.
JIGSAW: Looks like we’re going to have to play another game. It’s called Two Truths and a Lie. You have two minutes.
SARAH screams.