I wasn’t planning on being honest. Then HR asked, “What would have made you stay?” Something snapped. I mentioned:

The three reorganizations in one year.

The manager who replied “per my last email” to everything.

The time our department Slack accidentally included the CEO.

HR nodded slowly and said, “That’s helpful.” Two weeks later, my old team got a company-wide email about “enhanced communication standards.” My name wasn’t mentioned. But I know.

Every office has one. The Thermostat Person. In ours, that role belonged to Sandra. Sandra believed 68 degrees was “glacial.” She would walk in wearing a cardigan and immediately shiver as if she’d just stepped onto an Arctic research vessel. The rest of us believed 74 degrees was “tropical despair,” a climate best suited for reptiles and overwater bungalows.
Thus began the Cold War. Every morning, the thermostat would read 72. By mid-morning, it would quietly drop to 68. By lunch, someone would nudge it back to 72. By 3 p.m., we’d be sweating or layering in silence, depending on who won that hour. No one admitted responsibility. The thermostat adjusted itself, apparently. After months of this passive-aggressive HVAC diplomacy, HR intervened. They announced a “Temperature Equity Survey.” Seventeen questions. Not one of them asked, “Have you considered wearing sleeves?” Someone did write, “Just give Sandra a sweater,” in the comment box. That comment was later described as “not constructive.” HR declared the thermostat a “shared cultural asset” and installed a clear plastic lockbox over it like it was a rare museum artifact. Now the temperature is permanently set to 71. Sandra is still cold. We are still warm. And somehow this is what alignment looks like.

My annual review started strong. “We’re very happy with your performance.” Fantastic. I settled in, ready to accept praise and maybe even a modest raise. Then came the pivot. “But perception matters.” Ah. The invisible metric. The KPI you can’t measure but are somehow failing. Apparently I “walk too fast through the office,” which “can be interpreted as disengaged.” I asked if I was missing deadlines or underperforming. No, no — the work was great. The walking was the issue. Moving with purpose, it turns out, suggests emotional distance. I apologized for having functional legs. They recommended I “linger more intentionally” in shared spaces so colleagues could “feel my presence.” For the next week, I adjusted my stride to what I can only describe as corporate strolling. I paused near leadership offices. I nodded thoughtfully at walls. I held my coffee longer than medically advisable. My productivity dipped. My perception improved. Five stars.

I submitted a $42 dinner receipt after working a 14-hour day during a product launch. Two weeks later I got an email from Finance:“Can you clarify why sparkling water was included?” Apparently sparkling water is not considered mission-critical hydration. I replied that after 14 hours, I felt bubbles were justified. This triggered a chain of approvals that escalated to a manager I’ve never met. HR was looped in when someone used the phrase “precedent risk.” The final ruling: reimbursement approved, but only for still water. I’ve never felt more seen.