Cancel and Regret

I finalized this year's team-building plan with the administrative director, Crystal Dalton.

"Mr. Sander, is this the one we're booking? An all-inclusive six-star resort in the Madiles." Crystal's tone was brimming with excitement.

I nodded in satisfaction.

Back when we were in a civilian house of less than 50 square meters, I promised my staff, "One day, I will take everyone to the most beautiful place in the world for a celebration party!"

I kept this promise in mind for many years.

I told Crystal, "The average budget per person is $30,000. Just splurge. Besides that, each participating employee will be granted an extra three days of paid annual leave. They must be paid!"

Crystal smiled and closed the iPad. "If we publish this plan, I guess the company group chat will be in an instant uproar."

Sure enough, after the notice was sent to the company's group chat of over 400 people, it was instantly flooded with all kinds of cheering emojis.

Simon Tanner from the tech department posted a family photo.

Simon: [Great! Last year, I promised to take my daughter to the seaside to see sea turtles. Now it can come true!]

The newlyweds in the marketing department discussed whether to make it their honeymoon.

The entire company was immersed in festive joy.

I watched the thankful messages scrolling on my phone screen, feeling a surge of satisfaction.

However, some discordant remarks suddenly popped up.

It was from the new intern, Cynthia Joller. She posted a link to a short video of an influencer complaining about pointless team-building activities in the group chat before casually remarking.

Cynthia: [Seriously? Seriously? Do companies still have mandatory trips these days? I would rather stay home and relax.]

The lively group chat instantly froze.

Department head Daniel Jackman immediately stepped in to smooth things over.

Daniel: [Cynthia's new here and does not know the situation yet. Our company's team-building activities are top-tier perks; not going is a huge loss.]

Another colleague chimed in sarcastically.

[Exactly, some people don't even have connections when they want to go.]

Cynthia immediately replied with an eye-rolling emoji.

Cynthia: [No thanks. I am not interested. I do not want to waste my life playing pretend with unfamiliar colleagues. If the boss really has that kind of money, it would be better to just give out the team-building funds in cash.]

Her words silenced the group chat completely.

Several long-time employees who had been excitedly chatting earlier silently unsent their messages.

I even saw a few anonymous users secretly like Cynthia's comment, only to quickly unlike it a few seconds later.

That afternoon, there was a knock on my office door.

It was Cynthia. Wearing stylish slippers and holding a cup of milk tea, she was completely unfazed by her boss's presence.

"Mr. Sander, how about a chat?" She raised her chin and casually sat down on the couch opposite me.

"I think company team building is too old-fashioned. We young people value separating work and life. You spend a fortune to bring us all together, and we have to fake smiles. It's exhausting."

She looked at me defiantly, "It's an emotional drain, you know? Why not just pay us directly? Everyone's happy that way."

Looking at her expression, which seemed to say she was here to teach me management, I found it both absurd and funny. "The company's team building activities are honor trips for outstanding employees. It's a form of collective recognition, not a perk that can be bargained for at the market."

Cynthia pursed her lips. "Fine, forget I said anything."

She stood up and walked away, muttering under her breath, "How preachy and boring."

Near the end of the day, I saw the company's veteran, Larry Deck, gather around Cynthia's workstation with a few younger employees.

Larry beamed. "Cynthia, we all had your back! You said what we were all thinking. No sweat, we've got you covered if anything goes down!"

Cynthia raised an eyebrow slyly and whispered, "Relax, Larry. Just wait and see."

Then, Cynthia whipped out her phone and snapped a pic of the computer screen. After that, she aimed the camera at herself, her expression shifting instantly to one of pure distress. She even added a gray filter for effect.

Her lips moved, silently mouthing, "Help!"

My stomach sank.