Worm Pasta Was My Last Straw
At Opaline Corp, the lowest-performing employee had to eat a plate of pasta mixed with live worms.
This time, Tristan Crocker lost three clients and landed dead last.
To keep Tristan from feeling singled out, my wife, Wendy Kline, hit me with a nine-million-dollar performance penalty because I showed up one minute late while sick—even though I'd brought in three million in revenue.
Just like that, I became the first employee in company history with negative earnings.
Grinning, Tristan shoved the plate toward me.
"Wendy updated the company rules last night to keep everyone in line. Anyone who's late gets penalized three times their performance. You always said mistakes deserve punishment. Now that it's your turn, you're not backing out, right?"
Every eye in the room locked on me, waiting for me to lose it.
Wendy quickly sent me a message:
[The nine million is only on paper. It's not a real fine. With your talent, you'll earn it back in three months. Tristan's allergic to worms. If he ends up in the hospital over a punishment, it'll damage the company's reputation. And if people hear we punished an outsider, that'll look even worse.]
[You're my husband. You're one of us. I love you, which is why I'm giving you the chance to show some leadership.]
[Once this blows over, I'll give you an extra twenty dollars a month, okay?]
When I didn't reply, she finally snapped.
"Company rules apply to everyone, even the top performer. If you don't like it, you're free to leave."
I nodded, unclipped my badge, and set it on the table.
"Fine. I quit."
I looked at her.
"And while we're at it, let's get divorced."