I got put on blast online by a new intern who claimed the company was forcing employees to sacrifice their time off for mandatory team-building. No one wants to drag themselves to some island to hang out with coworkers. But what the internet didn’t know was that our company’s team-building tradition included: An annual takeover of a five-star resort, all expenses paid, plus-ones welcome, with an additional three days of paid vacation and a per-person budget of $30,000. Social media was roasting me as a heartless boss, so I decided to give them exactly what they wanted and sent out an announcement: “In response to employee feedback and out of respect for personal time, this year’s travel-based team-building is canceled and replaced with a $500 personal travel stipend.” The announcement dropped like a bomb. Long-time employees mobbed my office, begging me to bring back the Caribbean sun and sand. I finalized this year’s team-building plan with Lisa, our Administrative Director. “Xavier, this is the one? A six-star island in the Maldives.” Lisa’s voice brimmed with excitement. I nodded with satisfaction. Years ago, in a cramped startup office barely 500 square feet, I’d made a promise to my team: “Someday, I’m taking all of you to the most beautiful places in the world for our victory celebration!” I’d carried that promise for years. I told Lisa: “Budget is $30,000 per person. Don’t you dare cut corners. Also, give every participant three extra days of paid vacation. It has to be paid!” Lisa closed her tablet with a smile. “Once this plan hits the company group chat, the whole place is going to explode.” Sure enough, after the announcement hit our 400-person company chat, it was instantly flooded with celebration emojis. Marcus from Tech posted a family photo: “Perfect! I promised my daughter we’d go see sea turtles last year. Now I can finally make it happen!” The newlyweds in Marketing were already discussing whether to turn it into their honeymoon. The entire company basked in holiday-like joy. I watched the endless stream of thank-you messages scrolling across my phone screen, feeling deeply satisfied. Then some discordant notes jarred their way in. From the new intern, Dylan Sanders. He posted a link to some influencer’s video ranting about pointless team-building, then added casually: “Wait, seriously? Companies still do mandatory travel in this day and age? I’d rather just stay home.” The lively chat froze instantly. David, a department head, immediately jumped in to smooth things over: “Dylan just got here and doesn’t understand yet. Our company’s team-building is a premium benefit. You’d be crazy to skip it.” Another colleague chimed in: “Exactly. Some people would kill for this opportunity.” Dylan immediately replied with an eye-roll emoji: “Pass. Not interested. Don’t want to waste my life pretending to bond with coworkers I barely know.” “If the boss really has this kind of money, why not just convert the team-building budget to cash? That’d be way more practical.” His words killed the conversation dead. Several employees who’d been celebrating enthusiastically just moments ago quietly deleted their messages. I even noticed a few anonymous profiles had briefly liked Dylan’s comment, then hastily unliked it within seconds. That afternoon, someone knocked on my office door. Dylan. He wore ripped jeans and carried a drink, showing absolutely no nervousness about facing the CEO. His silver-gray hair caught the light in a way that felt almost aggressive. “Xavier, got a minute?” He jutted his chin forward and plopped himself onto the couch across from me without waiting for an answer, even crossing his legs. “I think this whole company team-building thing is totally outdated. Young people nowadays believe in keeping work and life separate. You spend all this money forcing us together where we have to fake-smile at each other. It’s exhausting.” He looked at me matter-of-factly, fingers absently playing with the headphones hanging around his neck. “It’s emotional labor, you know? Why not just give us the cash directly? Win-win for everyone.” I watched his expression—like he was here to teach me about management—and found it both absurd and almost funny. “The company’s team-building is an honor trip for outstanding employees. It’s collective recognition, not some benefit you can haggle over like you’re at a flea market.” Dylan pursed his lips. “Fine, whatever. Pretend I said nothing.” He stood up and left, muttering under his breath, “So condescending. What a drag.” Near the end of the workday, I saw veteran employee Ryan bringing several younger employees over to Dylan’s workstation. Ryan was all smiles: “Dylan, we totally support your idea! You said what we were all thinking! Don’t worry, we’ve got your back if anything happens!” Dylan raised an eyebrow smugly and lowered his voice: “Don’t worry, Ryan. Watch me work.” Then I saw Dylan pull out his phone and snap a photo of his computer screen. He turned the camera on himself, his face instantly switching to an expression of utter misery, complete with a gray filter. His lips moved silently, mouthing “Help me!” My heart sank.
When I got home from work, a video notification suddenly popped up. The title was written in inflammatory fonts: “Making minimum wage and being forced by my boss to attend a $30,000-per-person team-building trip—would you want this ‘blessing’?” The thumbnail showed Dylan’s face, written all over with forced compliance. My heart dropped. I clicked on the video. It opened with promotional footage of the six-star Maldives hotel, except it was edited into depressing black-and-white with sad music. Text appeared: “The boss’s promise looks pretty good, right?” The scene cut to Dylan’s workstation, zooming in on an ordinary spreadsheet. More text followed: “Too bad I’m just a working person who wants to go home after work.” Then came a close-up of him looking tearful, with text reading: “Being told I have to sacrifice my precious personal weekends to participate in mandatory social performance—thanks but no thanks.” He’d cleverly twisted “additional paid vacation” into “sacrificing weekends.” Finally, he addressed the camera directly: “I don’t want your Maldives. I just want to sleep in on weekends. Whoever wants this ‘blessing’ can have it.” The comment section predictably exploded. “This is how young people should be! Drop the company name and we’ll blast them for you!” “I hate bosses like this—so self-congratulatory! Get it through your head: my job is just to work. I have no obligation to attend team-building.” “You said it! Who wants team-building when you’re socially anxious? Give me back my rest time!” I was shaking with anger. Three days of paid vacation became “sacrificing precious weekends.” A $30,000 premium reward trip became “kidnapping.” The next morning, the office atmosphere felt wrong. Several employees gathered around Dylan, saying “you’re so bold” with their mouths while their faces showed the excitement of watching drama unfold. Veteran employee Ryan went even further, directly bringing Dylan into my office. Ryan opened with fake concern the moment he entered. “Xavier, don’t be angry. Dylan’s approach was extreme, sure, but he really did voice what a lot of young people are thinking. Why don’t you just go with popular opinion?” Dylan stood beside him with his arms crossed, looking completely fearless. He waved his phone: “Xavier, see that? This is what people want. It’s the trend of the times.” I said flatly: “The company’s traditions and policies won’t change because of anyone’s unreasonable tantrum.” Dylan snorted. “Tradition? Traditions exist to be broken. If you don’t figure out how to satisfy everyone, I can’t guarantee this won’t hit national trending topics tomorrow.” As soon as he finished speaking, my assistant rushed in, face pale. “Xavier, we have a problem. Dylan’s video has gone viral!” I refreshed my phone. Sure enough. What chilled me even more were several anonymous comments under the video, with locations showing they were from inside our office building. “Tell me about it. They call it a luxury trip, but last year’s hotel was smaller than my bathroom.” “Benefits? Yeah right. They say $30,000 budget, but that dump was worth maybe $300 if we’re lucky.” These lies made my head spin. They wanted the company’s luxury benefits while also pushing the risk onto the intern, fantasizing that if things got big enough, they could convert the trip into cash. This refined, greedy self-interest pierced through years of my goodwill. Looking at these two smug people in front of me, I suddenly felt it was all pointless. I loosened my top collar button, my Adam’s apple moving as if suppressing some emotion. Dylan remained oblivious, still tilting his head scrolling through his phone, his heel tapping the floor as he spun slightly in the chair—the posture of a victor.
Overnight, my company went from being everyone’s dream workplace to being universally condemned online as a “sweatshop.” The company name and my photo were all dug up. Abusive messages and harassing calls flooded my phone, making it vibrate violently on my desk. “Cold-blooded exploiter, hope your company goes bankrupt tomorrow!” “Trash company exploiting workers—already reported to the Labor Department!” The PR manager, sporting heavy dark circles under his eyes, handed me an emergency PR plan. His voice was hoarse: “Xavier, we need to make a statement now! Draft an official response immediately and get all the facts out there!” I rubbed my aching temples and looked at him. “If we make a statement now, in the eyes of the internet, we won’t be calmly explaining—we’ll be defensively justifying and showing off our wealth. It’ll only trigger more outrage.” The manager froze, mouth open, unable to speak. When emotional floods drown out reason, no amount of facts can make a ripple. I was wrong. I thought that treating people sincerely would always find believers. But as I refreshed that trending video, a new anonymous comment, boosted by countless likes, rose to the top position. The familiar tone made me almost certain this also came from inside the company. “Stop defending them. I’m an internal employee of this company. The so-called paid vacation actually has to be exchanged for our own precious annual leave! If you don’t agree, your supervisor will find fault with your work. We’re all afraid to speak up!” I stared at that comment, my head buzzing. Not with anger—with a bone-deep exhaustion and disgust. I could even imagine who typed those words. Maybe it was that veteran employee who’d thanked me just last week. This comment, like a boulder, completely crushed the last shred of hope in my heart. It used more vicious lies to poison even the company’s only gesture of goodwill into conspiracy. Below it, countless self-proclaimed “internal employees” piled on. My mind flashed back to when the company first turned a profit and everyone celebrated at a simple gathering. Back then, everyone’s smiles were genuine. I asked myself—in terms of benefits and compensation, I’d never shortchanged anyone who fought alongside me. But in the end, this is what I got—betrayal from everyone. They comfortably enjoyed my generosity while unhesitatingly stabbing me in the back for the vague promise of “cash benefits.” Turned out the team culture I’d worked so hard to build was just a joke of self-congratulation. The PR manager was still anxiously urging me: “Xavier, if we don’t speak up, our partners and investors are going to be overwhelmed with calls!” I wearily waved my hand and pushed the plan aside. “No need.” My voice was frighteningly calm. “Prepare a new announcement instead.” I stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Below, several media interview vans had already parked. I laughed at myself. I didn’t lose to Dylan Sanders. I lost to my own ridiculous trust. From today forward, I, Xavier, would only be a businessman. Businessmen only discuss interests, not feelings. I picked up my phone and dialed my assistant’s extension. “Notify all staff. Tomorrow morning at 9 AM sharp, everyone reports to the main conference room to discuss the final optimization plan for this year’s team-building.” On the other end, my assistant’s voice hesitated: “Xavier, are we… giving in to them?” “No.” I looked at the media lying in wait outside, speaking each word deliberately: “It’s time to make them personally pay for their own greed.”
The next morning, the company’s main conference room was packed. The air buzzed with barely suppressed excitement and anticipation. This didn’t feel like a crisis management meeting—it felt like a loot distribution ceremony. Dylan and Ryan sat in the front row, surrounded by a cluster of young colleagues. Ryan was talking animatedly, spittle flying: “I told you, Xavier backs down when pushed! As long as we unite and make enough noise, he’ll definitely cave!” Dylan looked even more pleased, even secretly starting a live stream on his phone. The stream title was especially provocative: “Guys, witness young people reforming the workplace! Watch us take back our benefits from the boss!” At exactly 9 AM, I walked into the conference room on time. Every eye instantly locked onto me—gloating, spectating, anticipating. I walked to the front and bowed deeply. “I’m sorry.” The room erupted in chaos, then burst into enthusiastic applause. Dylan’s live stream instantly filled with comments: “The boss apologized!” “Way to go, young people!” I straightened up and surveyed the smug faces below. “Because of my personal stubbornness and outdated thinking, I ignored everyone’s emphasis on personal time and caused tremendous trouble for all of you. I sincerely apologize here.” The applause grew even more enthusiastic. Ryan even stood up to lead a cheer: “Good on you for admitting your mistake!” Dylan smugly pointed his live stream camera at me like I was his trophy. I waited for the applause to gradually fade, then shifted tone. “To completely return freedom and choice to everyone, after careful consideration all night, I’ve decided to make a revolutionary adjustment to this year’s team-building plan.” Everyone held their breath, eyes filled with greedy anticipation. I looked at them and announced my decision word by word. “First, effective immediately, the company will completely cancel the collective travel team-building tradition that has continued since our founding.” The conference room instantly erupted in cheers. I ignored their reaction and continued with the second decision. “Second, to compensate everyone and support your independent travel, the company will instead distribute a $500 personal travel stipend to each current employee.” “This expresses our highest respect for freedom!” As my words fell, the room went dead silent. Dylan’s live-streaming phone clattered to the floor, screen shattering. From a $30,000-per-person luxury Maldives trip to a $500 stipend—a cliff-drop change. The massive gap completely crashed their brains. I added expressionlessly: “This is the precious freedom you fought so hard for, even at the cost of damaging the company’s reputation. Now, you’re free.” I connected my phone to the projector. On screen appeared the real-time stock price chart of our parent company—a cliff-diving green line, shocking to behold. Beside it were pop-ups from major financial news outlets. “Affected by mandatory team-building controversy, company culture questioned, stock price plummets 15% at opening!” Everyone’s expressions rapidly shifted from shock and disbelief to undisguised panic and despair. Their rice bowls were about to be smashed by their own hands. Dylan was the first to jump up, voice shrill and piercing. “Wasn’t the team-building budget $30,000? Why did the travel stipend become $500? That’s so unfair!” I looked at him coldly. “You used public opinion to threaten the company’s survival, causing the stock price to crash and the company to face financial strain. This is the consequence of your foolish actions.” My gaze swept across every panicked face below. “Half a day and tens of millions in market value evaporated. The Board of Directors demands that I eliminate the virus that triggered this crisis within 24 hours. Otherwise, to cut costs and stabilize stock prices, the company will immediately implement a 30% layoff plan.” I paused, watching their ashen faces. “Now, tell me—who is that virus?”
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