Story 2: Performance Review Purgatory
The air in the conference room was thick with unspoken tension. Dennis sat stiffly in his chair, staring at the stack of papers on the table between him and his manager, Susan; a year’s worth of toil, stress, and caffeine-fueled survival reduced to bullet points and vague corporate jargon.
Susan folded her hands neatly and offered a practiced smile. “So, Dennis, how do you think this year went?”
Dennis knew this game well. This wasn’t a conversation; it was a performance. Every response had consequences.
Option A: “I think I did well.” Bold, but an open invitation for scrutiny.
Option B: “There’s always room for growth.” An innocent statement that all but guaranteed extra work.
Option C: “I’d love to hear your perspective first.” A tactical deflection.
Dennis chose Option C—a strategic move wrapped in humility.
Susan nodded approvingly, mistaking it for deference. “Well, you’ve done some great work,” she began, pausing for effect. “But there are a few areas for improvement.”
Here it comes.
“We’d really like to see you take more ownership.”
Dennis barely suppressed an eye roll. The O-word. A euphemism for ‘clean up other people’s messes without expecting credit or complaining.’
“Absolutely,” Dennis lied smoothly. “I’ve actually been thinking about ways to do that already.”
Susan beamed, mistaking his survival instincts for enthusiasm.
Then came the moment Dennis had been dreading—the part that really mattered.
Susan sighed, adopting the familiar tone of pre-rehearsed disappointment. “You’ve done great work, but unfortunately, budgets are tight this year.”
Ah. There it was.
Dennis felt the heat rise in his chest. He had stayed late, picked up slack, solved problems outside his job description—all while watching mediocre performers coast by. And now, like clockwork, his contributions were met with the same empty platitudes.
He considered his options:
Option A: “I understand.” The polite doormat approach.
Option B: “I’d like to discuss aligning my compensation with my contributions.” A logical argument destined to be stonewalled.
Option C: Say nothing. Let the silence do the talking.
Dennis chose Option C.
He locked eyes with Susan and waited.
One second. Two. Five.
The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Susan shifted in her chair, tapping her pen against the table. She glanced at the papers, as if searching for an escape hatch.
Finally, she caved. “I’ll… see what I can do.”
Victory. Small, but satisfying.
As the meeting wrapped up, Susan forced an overly bright smile. “Let’s set some exciting stretch goals for next year!”
Dennis mirrored her smile, matching her corporate enthusiasm with surgical precision. “Let’s make sure my current responsibilities are optimized first.”
Susan blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh, sure. We can discuss that.”
Dennis stood, shook her hand, and walked out.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a pawn in the game. He felt like a player.
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