Eight Years of Corporate Slavery, Rewarded with a Broom

When Julius Podrick returned to his seat, he slammed the broom down on the desk. "What the hell does this mean? Is he trying to publicly humiliate our entire department?"

Caleb Wright lowered his voice. "Keep it down…"

Julius' eyes reddened as the veins at his temples throbbed. "Why should I? I'm getting married in the spring. I was relying on that year-end bonus, and they handed me a broom instead?"

Renold Stone kept his head lowered. His fists were clenched tight, and his shoulders trembled.

Caleb sighed and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers without lighting it. "My wife has a follow-up checkup next month. I was hoping to use the money to…"

Before he could say any more, my phone vibrated with a private message from the boss, George White.

"Zachary, don't overthink it. It was just meant to lighten the mood. You're a senior employee. You should have a broader perspective and keep the team in line. Do better next year and avoid coming in last again.

Perspective. That was all he had to say.

There were four of us in the administration department. We handled everything, whether it was negotiating with suppliers, maintaining government relationships, booking flights, moving heavy equipment, or fixing broken printers.

It was us who processed the sales contracts, stayed up all night moving marketing materials, and arranged every detail of George's travel.

We handled all the heavy, thankless tasks, yet in the end, the words "no performance metrics" were enough to send each of us away with a broom.

Julius stared at me. "Zach, are we really just letting this go?"

I set my broom down on the desk. "Relax. This isn't over."

After the annual gala ended, I went straight to George's office. The door was open, and the room was bustling. The sales, marketing, and finance directors stood around George, smiling and eagerly showing their commitment.

"Mr. White, our performance this year doubled under your leadership."

"Next year, we'll push harder and make even greater progress."

When I walked in, the smile on George's face froze for a moment. "Alright, everyone, head back. We'll pick this up after the New Year."

After the room cleared, he gestured for me to sit. He lit a cigarette at a leisurely pace and slid the pack across. "What's with the face? Did someone owe you money?"

I didn't take it, keeping my anger under control. "Mr. White, don't you think that part of the gala went a bit too far?"

He frowned. "Which part are you talking about?"

I said, "The broom giveaway."

He blew out a smoke ring and laughed. "Zachary, you're too sensitive. You're an adult. It was just a little game to liven things up. The other departments were all laughing too."

I lowered my gaze. "That's because the brooms didn't land in their hands."

He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned back. "Are you getting worked up now? Alright then. Why shouldn't the administration department come in last in the annual evaluation? Sales brought in 300 million dollars in profit. Operations slashed acquisition costs by 40%. Marketing tripled their exposure. What about your department?"

An inexplicable anger surged up inside me. It was about the numbers again.

During the mid-year company-wide salary adjustment, every department got a raise, except ours. The administrative department didn't see a single increment.

I went to ask why. These were his replies.

"Administrative salaries are already fixed. Unlike business departments, you don't have performance fluctuations. Raises have to come later."

"Zachary, you're a senior employee. You need to have a broader perspective."

"Wait until the end of the year. I'll make it up to you in the year-end bonus. I won't let everyone down."

It was true that our salaries were fixed, but the problem was that they hadn't changed in three years.

Prices had gone up. Rent had gone up. Everything had gone up.