Ava liked Karl. He wasn’t shy, but he was quiet. His voice was flat and gentle, and higher than one might expect from a man of his height. When he spoke in front of an audience, his calm energy blanketed the room. His public speaking style was the opposite of what STÄDA’s Powerful Presentation Training recommended now, which was to strive for the vocal equivalent of light pyrotechnics, but Ava found him incredibly pleasing to listen to. This was in part because of his dry humor, which he served with a tight, playful smile, and in part because his Nordic accent placed emphasis on unexpected syllables, building a cadence that was quietly riveting.
He stood at the head of the room as Ava’s colleagues—there were dozens now—milled around the edges. The walls were flanked with half-erased notes from the Manager Training that had taken place before the party.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
Be aware of Defensive Pessimism.
Climb the Ladder of Perception.
Practice Radical Compassion.
Am I in a cult? Ava wondered vaguely. She had been through a few of these trainings herself over the past several months. They were part of STÄDA’s expansion, and although they weren’t required, she wondered whether her attendance—or lack of attendance—was noticed. Once, after dodging three consecutive Self-Care Seminars, she had been notified by an email from Spirit that she was “missed,” and she was provided with a link to view the workshops virtually.
The Personality Test—a daylong workshop to determine your leadership color—was especially popular. It was STÄDA’s version of the Myers-Briggs test. You could be assigned red, yellow, green, or blue based on whether you were naturally direct, outgoing, empathetic, or analytical. Ava’s colleagues had been excited to find out their colors. Some employees included their color in their email signatures. Others bought color-coded knickknacks for their desks, or wore clothing and accessories that corresponded to their colors. Floor 7 had been recently converted to the Swag Lounge, where a limitless variety of colorwear was available.
Ava had taken the test at the request of the Spirit team, after avoiding it for months. The questions had been bewildering, but the result was predictable: blue. Analytical. She could have told anyone that, without a test. But she wondered if an earlier version of herself might have been assigned green—empathetic—and part of her was disappointed by the result. The results packet she received after taking the test included a series of backhanded compliments: You compensate for your social deficit by demonstrating a raw talent with numbers. Although your colleagues do not enjoy your company, they trust your work. Your time-management skills surpass, and therefore irritate, those around you.
If there was one thing Ava liked about the Personality Test, it was that it made small talk easier. She understood that every conversation was a different configuration of the same components. The Personality Test made it easier to find common ground, and in turn allowed her to make jokes when one would otherwise be difficult to muster. Some mornings in the Wellness Kitchen she could get away with simply saying, “Oh, I can see your red is showing,” as someone reached for the coffee first.
Karl tapped the side of his Festive Plastic Plate with a Useful Fork. “All right, everyone, if I could have your attention.” The din settled and everyone turned to face him. For a moment he didn’t appear to have anything else to say, and Ava felt a light panic on his behalf. “We’re here in part,” he continued, “to celebrate Ava Simon. It’s her ten-year anniversary today with STÄDA. Ava, please join me.”
A man from the Spirit team hit a button and a blast of electronic music erupted from the room’s speakers. Ava’s stomach was a hard pit. She tried to make herself small. She hadn’t realized it was the exact date of her ten-year anniversary at STÄDA. Maybe if she didn’t look up at Karl—at anyone—this could be over quickly. But no. She could not disappear. She walked to the front of the room, awkwardly maneuvering around the Sturdy Tables while the music blasted. She stood next to Karl and faced her colleagues with a closed smile. She thought of a screwdriver fitting into the head of a screw and slowly turning.
The Spirit staffer fumbled with the button and the music stopped. Karl leaned in to whisper to her. “I dislike this sort of thing too. It will be over shortly.” He shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. Judith Ball was standing in the back of the room with her head tilted to one side, as though she were considering a painting. “Ava and I have worked together for ten years,” Karl said. “This company wouldn’t be the same without Ava’s contributions. She’s consistent and thorough and has worked tirelessly to design some of STÄDA’s most popular household boxes to date, including, but not limited to, the Singular Shoe Box, the Genuine Storage Box, the Delightful Storage Box, the Purposeful Loose Ends Box, the Sensible Bento Box, and the Memorable Archives Box.”
Had Karl’s voice cracked at the word tirelessly? Ava was moved. Consistent, she thought, and thorough. These were some of the highest compliments her work could receive. Her colleagues clapped halfheartedly, hand to wrist, still holding their Festive Plastic Plates, and Ava made her way to the back corner of the room, her face hot from the unexpected attention.
“At the same time,” Karl continued, “we are happy to boast our strongest ever Marketing team in STÄDA’s history. I don’t think we need the assistance of any charts to know how well STÄDA has performed these last eight quarters, thanks to our friends in Marketing.” There was a louder burst of applause this time, mostly from the corner where the STÄDA Marketing team stood, many of them wearing red (direct) and yellow (outgoing) clothing and accessories—bracelets, T-shirts, wristbands, and headbands. “I can feel that STÄDA is growing stronger, and I believe that morale will only continue to soar,” Karl said, his voice straining. Ava wondered if he believed what he said. She could recall the era when STÄDA offered only tables, boxes, and clocks and took up only a quarter of a floor. “That is,” he continued, his tone more lighthearted, “as long as the Red Hook Vandals retire their efforts.”
There were a few polite chuckles. The Red Hook Vandals were a recent nuisance to the company. STÄDA was preparing to build a second tower—the Vision Tower—which would house all of Marketing, over an adjacent lot. To develop the property, STÄDA had ordered the demolition of a community garden along the south side of the lot, and the early construction had angered a small but vocal group of young activists. Executives at STÄDA had begun calling them the Vandals because of their clever small-scale actions to disrupt the Vision Tower’s construction. They’d begun by protesting with signs, but that had garnered little press, so they had moved on to more retaliatory stunts. The backlash had escalated over the past several months, but it had had little effect on the construction timeline. Response to the escalating tension was polarized within the small group that discussed it in the Security and Corporate Social Responsibility S-Chatrooms. Some were sympathetic to their cause, others felt concerned and unsafe, but to the majority of the office, including Ava, the Vandals’ presence was felt only to the extent that they occasionally provided new fodder for small talk.
“And so,” Karl continued, “given our fantastic standing, I would like to announce my retirement from my position as head of product.”
Ava’s heart skipped. She wondered if she had misheard him. The room had become quiet. Karl cleared his throat. “STÄDA has never been in a better position,” he said. “We have become a household name. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this for my small furniture company ten years ago.” He clasped his hands in front of him and smiled politely. Ava could sense the restrained emotion behind this gesture. “I’ll be happy to spend time with my wife and my beautiful Siamese cat, Leonard. He is a retired show cat. We will be living in Hudson, building chairs from wood. That is my passion.”
Ava saw a few Marketing staffers exchange glances.
“I’m also happy to announce,” Karl said, “that Mathew Putnam, who graduated at the top of his MBA class at the Wharton School, has relocated from Philadelphia to take ove
r my role of STÄDA’s head of product. Marketing, Engineering, Spirit, and Technical will now be reporting to Mr. Putnam, who will now share a few words about this reorganization.” Karl paused for a moment. “Thank you,” he said.
The room buzzed with confusion. Ava glanced around the room and saw a look of bewilderment on Jaime’s face. Mat made his way to the front of the room. “We are so excited about this,” he announced over the murmuring. He clapped his hands together.
We? Ava thought.
“It’s my honest belief,” Mat said, “that our home goods can only be as powerful as our hearts and minds. The way we feel at work affects the products we make and the message we send to customers about STÄDA. I see myself as the guardian of this profoundly delicate flywheel of mind and matter, and you can expect to see a lot more positive changes around the office that I hope will help us bring our whole hearts to work. There is so much opportunity to help the STÄDA family get the most value out of what we offer. I can’t wait to report back on Engineering’s and Marketing’s next big campaigns.”
Engineers didn’t have big campaigns, Ava thought. Her team designed products, then built them, then tested them, then rebuilt them, then explained how to assemble them. That was it. They had no dealings whatsoever with Marketing. And now she’d have to work with Mat. No—for him. They would have to make presentations together. For a terrible moment she allowed herself to contemplate the slideshow transition effects he would try to use.
“I have a question,” someone called out. It was Owen Lloyd, a relatively new addition to the Marketing team. He had transferred from Float-Home, the vacation rental app. Ava knew this because he was the loudest person on Floor 12. He typed loudly, spoke loudly, walked loudly, made coffee loudly, and demonstrated that there was a loud way to open a refrigerator. He was dressed in a tight yellow polo tucked into blue jeans. “So we really leaned into positive psychology at my last job, at Float-Home. I don’t know if anyone else here knows what I’m talking about,” he said, glancing around, “but like . . . it’s such an awesome philosophy.” His ears had turned red. “So my question is . . . well, I heard a rumor you would be bringing Positivity Mandates to STÄDA, and I wondered if that’s true.”
“Absolutely, absolutely, one thousand percent,” Mat said. “Thanks for asking, man. Going forward, STÄDA will be a solutions-based company.”
Applause erupted around Ava, startling her. Were her colleagues this desperate for a more positive work environment? Many of the people applauding were engineers. It was their job to detect and call out problems with products.
“And actually, just to piggyback off that a minute,” Mat said, “can you say your name for everyone?”
“Owen Lloyd!” Owen said too loudly, glowing from the success of his question.
“Well, Owen, good news in the Positivity Mandate department. Starting today, STÄDA will be partnering with SHRNK, an awesome text-therapy app. Everyone’s subscriptions will be covered by STÄDA and you will never, ever have to put your mental health on hold. Execs at STÄDA know as well as the rest of you how difficult life can be. Now you can bring your problems to your SHRNK so you can bring your positivity to STÄDA.”
Another eruption of applause. The Spirit staffer handling the audio pumped his fist, as though Mat had just dunked a basketball. Then he hit a button and the music blasted. Ava had seen subway ads for SHRNK. They featured a muscular man in a white T-shirt sitting in a mid-century armchair and looking solemnly at the camera. Got help? was the slogan. Ava wasn’t sure whether the man in the ad was supposed to be the therapist or the patient.
“As a matter of fact,” Mat said, pacing now, “wellness will no longer be just a suggestion. Our friends in Spirit believe, as I do, that everyone has a right to their best self, and in fact we demand it. So whether it’s a SHRNK membership or a Self-Care workshop, your participation will be noted and included in your annual review.”
Ava’s breath felt shallow. She was reminded of the time she had inadvertently walked into a Self-Care workshop in which participants were instructed to force a laugh every five minutes.
“I think I’ve given you all more than enough to absorb for today,” Mat said. “So what I’ll ask everyone to do now is put your hands in,” he said, demonstrating with one of his hands. He wore a rubber yellow bracelet around his wrist, which Ava had first interpreted as some sort of sports accessory and now realized was a personality bracelet; it matched that of several others in the room. Many of Ava’s colleagues stepped forward, throwing their hands into a pile. “Yep,” Mat said. “All of you in the back too.” It was physically impossible to get all hands in, Ava noted, and she watched as her colleagues standing at the edges of the room simply jutted their hands forward in front of them, vague smiles on their faces. Ava looked around for Jaime, who stood with his arms crossed, looking as if he were watching a live dissection.
“Awesome, awesome,” Mat said. “On three, I want to hear absolutely!”
He counted to three. It was a clunky word to demand everyone shout together, but her colleagues did so with giddy excitement, then broke apart into many small, happy clusters.
Ava tried to squeeze her way to the exit, but she bumped into Jaime.
“Sorry, Ava,” Jaime said. He bent to pick up her Decent Notebook.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Trying to get outta here?”
“Yes.”
“Me too,” Jaime said. “That guy is one thousand percent the worst.”
“You think so too? Did you have any idea that Karl—”
“No,” Jaime said. “I thought maybe you knew. I mean, what even is STÄDA without Karl? Who am I without Karl?”
“Was he joking about that therapy app?” Panic thrummed in Ava’s chest. “It’s absurd.”
“I guess a text therapist is better than no therapist,” Jaime said pointedly.
Ava wasn’t currently seeing a therapist, and she struggled to avoid the implication. She pressed her lips into a tight smile and let a group of engineers from the Appliance team squeeze between them.
Mat had emerged from the knot of people and was now, to Ava’s horror, making his way to her. “Hey, Ava!” he called over the noise.
“Yes,” she said, looking at him suspiciously. “Hi.”
Jaime waited a beat. “I’m Jaime,” he said, raising his hand up.
Mat high-fived him. “Hey, amigo!” he said.
Jaime opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
“I’m sorry if this is a surprise,” Mat said, turning to Ava. He was sincere. He gestured to say more, but he was approached by two women from the Marketing team who looked like they were going to ask him for an autograph. One woman wore a forest-green silk blouse. The other, who was dressed in a butter-yellow shirt and a checked mustard-yellow skirt, stood directly in front of Ava.
“I’ve read about how Positivity Mandates can completely transform an office!” she shouted at Mat over the commotion. “I’m totally on board!”
“Amazing!” Mat said. “We’re going to level-up this company. Yellow fist-bump.”
Ava watched the woman in the green silk shirt assume an expression of pure jealousy while Mat fist-bumped the woman in yellow, until Mat turned to her. “Mat Putnam,” he said, sticking out his hand.
“I know!” the woman in green said. “I’m Kim.”
Ava watched, perplexed. She desperately wanted to leave the room—to go back to her work, where her task for the afternoon was straightforward: to calculate the optimal hinge width for the Very Nice Box.
She saw that Karl was shaking hands with a pair of senior engineers. “. . . keeping up with the . . . well . . . times,” she heard him say with a deflated smile.
Ava slipped out of the room and made her way back to her desk, where she tried to resume work as though nothing unusual had happened. She put on her Peaceful Headphones to block out the commotion spilling onto the floor. Her inbox was empty other than a survey email inviting her to
rate the meeting and a notification that she had been preregistered and preapproved for a SHRNK account. She moved both emails to her trash folder and tried to focus on the hinge mockups.
But she couldn’t. She kept going back to Karl’s announcement. Very top of his class. Who cared? Mat Putnam was a child compared to her colleagues. And now, suddenly, she, a senior engineer, was reporting to him?
There was no hope for productivity. She gathered her things and took the elevator to the parking lot. If anyone asked, she would say Brutus had a vet appointment.
“Hey!”
She spun around. It was—was she seeing this right?—Mat Putnam, jogging to catch up with her. She froze, watching him approach. “Hey,” he panted, putting his hand on her car door, preventing her from opening it. “I’m sorry about that. I was really hoping we’d be able to powwow before Karl shared the news. I was able to debrief most of the engineers, but Storage was my last stop and I ran out of time.”
Powwow, Ava thought. She looked at him flatly. “It’s fine,” she said. “Let’s just sync up tomorrow. I have to get home for my dog.”
Mat stood back from the car as she got in. “I promise I’m not some douchebag bro,” he said, still out of breath. His voice carried through her closed window. She considered the total irony of the statement. A douchebag bro was exactly what he was.
“Okay,” Ava said.
She turned the ignition, but the car wouldn’t start. “Come on,” she whispered, patting the wheel. “Come on.” She hoped Mat would be gone by the time she looked up, but he was still there, peering at her through her window.
“Not starting?”
She tried again, but this time her engine didn’t even attempt to turn over.
Mat scratched the back of his head. “Do you think maybe it’s the—” he called through the window.
“Engine,” Ava said, her hands squarely on the wheel. She got out of the car. It had been her father’s.
The Very Nice Box Page 2