Douglas sauntered by coffee in hand, his boots clacking against the floor like a one-man stampede. He stopped by Jim’s desk, raising an eyebrow. “Hard at work, I see.”
Jim didn’t look up from his screen. “Harder than your tie’s working at staying out of your coffee.”
Douglas’s glare darkened; his tie still faintly stained from that morning’s mishap. “You know, it’s a miracle you’re still employed.”
Jim raised his coffee cup in mock salute. “And yet, here I am. Must be doing something right.”
By lunch, the morning’s interactions were already a faint memory, but Douglas’s retreating glare still replayed in Jim’s mind. He sat at their usual cafeteria table, unwrapping his sandwich, as X017 joined him, standing by the table with perfect robotic posture.
X017 tilted his head. “Query: Why does Douglas consistently exhibit resistance to workplace directives and interpersonal interactions?”
Jim smirked mid-bite. “Because he’s allergic to fun. And people. Mostly people.”
“Resistance appears inefficient,” X017 observed. “Why do humans engage in behaviors that hinder workplace harmony?”
Jim leaned back, grinning. “Because harmony’s boring. Nobody remembers the smooth days. They remember the chaos. The glitches. The times when someone threw a wrench into the system just to see what would happen.”
X017 paused, processing. “Does this principle apply to the directives we are crafting?”
“Absolutely,” Jim said, gesturing with his sandwich. “The trick is to make it seem just plausible enough that people go along with it without question. But it’s gotta have just enough chaos to keep things interesting. You saw Karen earlier—she’s not resisting. She’s thriving.”
X017 tilted his head. “Karen’s reaction is consistent with behavioral reinforcement theories. She reframes compliance as an opportunity for achievement.”
“Exactly,” Jim said. “That’s why she’s the going to end up being the Queen of Compliance.”
X017’s optics flickered. “Does the success of these directives depend on individuals like Karen?”
Jim shrugged. “They help. But the real magic is when you get people like Douglas to play along. That’s when you know you’ve struck gold.”
X017 straightened, his optics flickering slightly. “Query: Why do you focus so heavily on Douglas? His reactions suggest heightened frustration, yet he remains compliant.”
Jim smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Because he’s Douglas. The guy’s got this unshakable belief that he’s smarter than everyone else in the room. Watching him try to out-think something ridiculous? It’s like performance art.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
X017 tilted his head. “Does this behavior serve a functional purpose, or is it purely recreational?”
“Recreational,” Jim admitted, grinning. “But it’s harmless. Nobody’s getting hurt. Douglas gets to feel outraged, which honestly is his natural state of being, and the rest of us get a little entertainment. It’s a win-win.”
X017 processed this for a moment. “Is this… pettiness?”
Jim raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. “You’re catching on, X. But not just pettiness—strategic pettiness. It’s an art form.”
X017’s optics flickered again; his posture almost contemplative. “Observation: Pettiness appears to be a recurring element in human social dynamics. Is it essential to fostering workplace camaraderie?”
Jim laughed. “Not essential, but it helps. Think of it like… a pressure valve. A little harmless pranking keeps people from losing it over the real nonsense around here. Like the HR memos that actually matter.”
X017 paused, his head tilting slightly. “So, by targeting Douglas, you are maintaining workplace morale?”
Jim’s grin widened. “Exactly. See? I knew you’d get it.”
X017 straightened. “Observation: Plants in the office are inconsistently maintained and contribute to workspace disarray. Mandating uniform plant height could streamline aesthetics and provide an opportunity for enhanced compliance.”
Jim paused mid-chew, his eyes lighting up. “Wait. Did you just suggest… a plant height policy?”
“Correct,” X017 replied. “It would be perceived as a minor adjustment but could induce significant behavioral change.”
Jim chuckled. “X, you’re a genius. Picture it: Karen running around with a ruler, Worker 42 whispering about ‘hidden agendas,’ and Douglas, of course, stubbornly defending his oversized cactus—because it’s prickly and unapproachable, just like him.”
“Estimated compliance rates: 85% within the first 24 hours,” X017 stated. “Resistance localized to one individual: Douglas.”
Jim grinned. “Perfect. Let’s draft it after hours. We’ll roll it out tomorrow morning.”
X017 tilted his head. “Should I include a clause addressing consequences for non-compliant plants?”
“Absolutely,” Jim said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “This is gonna be good.”
The paper policy portal of doom’s brass framing gleamed in the early morning light of the east facing windows. At 11:00 a.m., an hour with will soon cause endless anxiety, the ear-shattering screech of the Dot-Matrix Overlord once again filled the office. Karen practically sprinted to the slot in the wall, ruler still clutched in her hand from some earlier “unrelated” tasks.
She tore the paper free and read aloud:
“ATTENTION ALL STAFF:
To maintain visual harmony and promote a consistent workplace aesthetic, all desk plants must not exceed a height of 12 inches.
Studies from our sister site, Corporate HQ East, show a 14% increase in employee focus and a 9% reduction in afternoon fatigue following the implementation of this policy.
Compliance checks will begin Thursday. Non-compliant plants will be removed for corrective trimming.
Thank you for your cooperation.
—Multi-Matrix Human Resource Management.”**
Karen urgently tossed the ripped memo at Douglas and rushed to her desk.
“Oh no! My ficus is 13 inches. I’m out of compliance!” she wailed, jogging frantically between cubicles. “Does anyone have scissors?”
“Great. HR’s coming for the plants now,” Douglas grumbled in his usual sarcastic wheeze, crumpling the memo in his hand. “What’s next, outlawing fridge magnets?”
“Do you really think HR is going to measure our plants?” Anonymous Worker 42 asked nervously, glancing over her shoulder and occasionally at the ceiling, as if expecting HR to descend from above. “Should I just hide my fern?” she muttered, walking away as if in a trance.
“Plant Height Hysteria has officially begun,” Jim thought to himself, barely suppressing a grin. “I better not pat myself on the back too hard; I might break my arm.”
“Ficus-related compliance rates are projected to reach 98% within ten minutes,” X017 reported promptly.