Meet Mona: a paragon of corporate tyranny. She’s the kind of manager who doesn’t just supervise her team—she haunts them. If you’re typing up a report at your desk, Mona's looming behind you with a mug of chamomile tea and a smile that could double as a warning sign. She doesn't blink, ever. Some say she sleeps with her eyes wide open. In Mona’s world, "delegation" is just a fancy way of saying, "I'm watching you do this the wrong way."
It wasn’t just the micromanaging. Oh, no. Mona had an uncanny ability to attach herself to the CEO like static cling. At every board meeting, she sat at the corner of the table, subtly nodding and mouthing "brilliant" whenever the CEO made even the most nonsensical of remarks. It could be something as absurd as, "What if we pivot to selling penguin socks?" and Mona would be there, eyes wide, scribbling it down as if he’d just solved global warming.
And the unwritten rule? No one left before Mona. Even if it was 8 p.m. and she was on her third consecutive slideshow on Optimizing Email Font for Maximum Readability, you sat there, eyes glazed, praying for an earthquake, a power outage, a small meteor—anything that would release you from her clutches.
Then came the new guy. No one quite knew where Amir came from; he breezed into the office one rainy Tuesday, all casual shirts and a grin that said, I am here for chaos. He had a laid-back attitude that seemed to taunt Mona’s ultra-controlled existence. While others double-checked their work five times to avoid Mona's scrutiny, Amir seemed to be editing spreadsheets like he was playing Candy Crush. And did he just... leave at 5 p.m.? Like it was a normal thing? Eyes widened in horror as he waved a cheerful goodbye and Mona’s face twitched like she’d just eaten a lemon.
But Amir had a secret weapon: charm. The team quickly rallied behind him, buoyed by his daily affirmations that work-life balance was, in fact, not a myth. His rebellious streak grew infectious. Suddenly, Stacey from accounting was sipping mojitos on a Wednesday night, Bob from sales was taking long lunches, and HR was Googling “Is morale too high?”
Mona, sensing her empire slipping, doubled down. She started assigning tasks with the ferocity of a drill sergeant. “Everyone, submit a 3,000-word report on the history of office plants by tomorrow morning!” The team’s spirits drooped, until Amir stood up mid-rant, calm as ever, and delivered a line so simple, so dangerous: “Mona, have you tried.. not?”
The office fell into stunned silence. Was he a fool? A hero? Did he have life insurance? Mona sputtered, but for the first time, words failed her. Even the CEO, who had wandered in looking for his mug, stared in confusion.
The tipping point came when Amir managed to convince the CEO to do an anonymous feedback session company-wide. “It’ll show transparency!” Amir said, flashing that grin. Mona’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks. The CEO, however, took the bait. It turned out that hearing “Stop taking business advice from penguins” wasn’t as funny to him as it was to the rest of the office. A few reports later, highlighting Mona’s greatest hits—including “mandatory PowerPoint karaoke”—and the writing was on the wall.
The final scene was almost cinematic: Mona, looking pale and small, resigning with the grace of a cat slipping off a ledge. The CEO, whose penguin-based pivot had failed spectacularly, gave a half-hearted speech about pursuing new opportunities (he was later spotted at a tech startup trying to reinvent the paperclip).
With Mona and the CEO gone, Amir was promoted, but he refused to be a manager. “I’m a consultant,” he said with a wink, and his job was to remind everyone that work didn’t have to come with existential dread.
As for the team? They celebrated with a karaoke night that didn’t involve any PowerPoints.
