I’ve been working nonstop, doing everything right — staying late, saying “noted” in meetings, even laughing at the team lead’s dry jokes.
Still, nothing. Not even a “well done.”
“Chill, Becky. Don’t let it get to you,” Miriam said, eyes glued to her screen.
Miriam’s my best friend. She’s a programmer, lives with me, and eats 80% of the groceries.
I’m a junior analyst at Melcorp, which sounds fancy until you realize most of my job involves chasing client feedback and pretending Excel isn’t trying to ruin my life.
“Why is this network always terrible?” I groaned, staring at my frozen screen like it personally betrayed me.
Miriam raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten the country we’re in? Network issues are the least of our national problems.”
I turned to her, exasperated. “Besides crashing at my place and eating all my cereal, what exactly do you bring to this friendship?”
She grinned. “Emotional support and sarcasm.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
I stood up and began pacing. “I really think we need new AI software. Something that collects client feedback automatically. No more chasing people for reviews. I've actually done the numbers.
“Of course you’ve done the numbers,” Miriam said, not even pretending to be surprised.
“—but the CEO won’t budge. Man’s living in the Stone Age. I showed him charts, projections, even a mock-up. But no, apparently 'new technology' is too much risk. Risk? In 2025? Come on. If I could pitch this directly to the stakeholders without looking like I’m staging a corporate coup, I would, but the man's just low-key stingy."
Miriam coughed suddenly and tapped my arm.
“Stop tapping me! I’m pouring my soul out here. A little emotional support wouldn’t hurt!”
“Becky,” she whispered, her face pale, “your mic is on.”
“What mic? The network is still buffering—”
“Nope. It’s not buffering anymore.”
Frozen screen? Gone. Video? Back. Audio? Clear. And on that screen? The weekly meeting. With the CEO. And the stakeholders.
I didn’t even look at anyone’s faces. I just quietly closed the laptop and stared at the wall.
I shut my laptop, took a deep breath, and started writing my resignation letter. Because I was cooked. No pun intended.
Miriam tried to console me all night with popcorn and mock job interview questions, but nothing helped. I was already picturing myself among the ranks of jobless youths, LinkedIn profile updated to Open for Work. I already saw the headlines: “Melcorp Employee Roasts CEO on Zoom, Regrets Everything.”
The next morning, I walked into the office like I was headed to my own funeral. The receptionist smiled—how dare she—and said, “The CEO wants to see you.”
Fantastic.
Clutching my resignation letter like a tragic love note, I marched to his office.
Good morning, sir,” I said, hovering awkwardly at the door.
“Come in,” he said calmly.
I sat across from him, trying not to sweat through my blouse.
“That was... quite the meeting yesterday,” he said.
“Sir, I want to sincerely apologize,” I blurted. “My comments were completely unprofessional. I actually came here with my resignation letter. I understand if you—”
He raised a hand, cutting me off.
Then he laughed.
From Freepik
Not like a polite chuckle. Like a full, amused laugh from the belly.
“Well,” he said, still smiling, “apparently I’m not just stingy—I’m prehistoric too.”
I froze.
“Miss Becky,” he continued, “your little mic mishap actually gave the stakeholders a good laugh. More importantly, they liked your idea. They want you to lead the AI feedback project.”
My jaw dropped. “Sir... what?”
“You’ll be moved to the Communications Department. You’ll lead your project. No more errands.”
“Are you serious?”
“You can still hand in that resignation, if you’d prefer unemployment,” he said with a raised brow.
“Definitely not, sir. I love employment. Big fan.”
He grinned. “Good. Just… keep the mic muted next time, yeah?”
“Yes, sir. Muting everything from now on—including my emotions.”
That night, I walked into our apartment and flung myself on the couch.
Miriam looked up. “So? How bad was it?”
I grinned. “I got promoted.”
She choked on her cereal. “Wait—you insulted your boss and got a raise? What kind of reverse workplace psychology is this?!”
“All I’m saying is... speak your truth. Just maybe don’t do it during a Zoom meeting.”
We laughed until we couldn’t breathe.
And just like that, I became the first person in company history to get a promotion mid-slander. And for the first time in a long while, I actually looked forward to Monday.
Thank you for Reading.
