The day the year-end bonuses dropped, the boss suddenly @everyone in the company chat.
[Given the increasingly fierce external competition, starting this year, bonuses will be distributed based on contribution. Those who contribute more get more. Those who contribute less get less. Those who contribute nothing get nothing!]
The announcement sent cheers rippling through the neighboring departments.
"Boss is generous! I'm gonna work here for life!"
"Fat bonus means I can hold my head high! Taking the wife to Northland for New Year's!"
But in our Tech Department? Dead silence.
Milton Lambert, the most senior guy on the team, looked like he'd aged ten years in ten seconds.
"Boss... the bonus... did they make a mistake?"
"This amount... just eight bucks... that's way too little..."
Cordelia Henson, one of the younger ones, had tears welling in her eyes.
"Yeah, boss, my mom's waiting on money for her surgery. Can you check if this is right?"
Caspar Fox slammed his palm on the desk and shot to his feet.
"A mistake?! Didn't you see what the boss just posted? He's talking about us!"
"Eight bucks and eighty-eight cents—can't even buy a bowl of noodles downstairs! What are we, beggars?!"
My phone buzzed. A private message from the boss.
[The Tech Department's contribution to the company was insufficient this year. However, out of humanitarian consideration, we've given everyone a red envelope of $8.88. Your department needs to reflect seriously and strive to contribute more next year!]
All fifteen of us in Tech—no matter how many years we'd put in—got exactly $8.88.
Meanwhile, every other department was celebrating, pockets stuffed.
The Tech Department. The backbone of the entire company's technical operations. We answered every call, pulled countless all-nighters.
And now we were the department with "insufficient contribution."
In that case, I'd like to see how the company will function without our technical department.
——
The atmosphere in the office was suffocating. Somewhere, one of the girls started crying quietly.
I clenched my fists until my knuckles ached, then took a deep breath.
"I'm going to get answers. For all of us."
I stood and headed straight for the boss's office.
It was packed inside.
Finance, Planning, PR—people from every department crowded around, gushing gratitude and pledging loyalty.
Their faces glowing. Nothing like mine.
The moment I walked in, the smile slid off the boss's face.
"Alright everyone, back to work. Last shift before the holiday—let's finish strong."
The crowd filed out. He gestured for me to sit.
"What? Not happy with your bonus?"
I kept my voice level. Barely.
"No, I'm not. If we're distributing based on contribution, then our Tech Department—"
"Stop right there."
He cut me off and took a slow sip of tea.
"Looks like that message I sent you was a waste of time."
"You've been in management for years now, and you still have zero perspective. Your bonus is low and instead of reflecting on yourself and your team's problems, you come in here complaining it's unfair?"
Something snapped inside me.
Perspective. Perspective. Always with the "perspective."
Back in the middle of the year, when the company did its annual salary adjustments, everyone got raises. Everyone except us in Tech. Not a single cent.
I'd asked why.
[Your Tech Department's average salary is already higher than other departments. If we raise it further, it might cause resentment and hurt company harmony.]
[Claude Finch, you're management now. You need to have perspective.]
[Wait until year-end. I'll make sure your department gets a bigger bonus. You won't be disappointed.]
Sure, our salaries were higher than the other non-revenue departments. But they were still way below industry average.
Raises were just another pie the boss dangled every year.
But because of that one promise—"bigger bonus at year-end"—everyone had swallowed their frustration and waited.
