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."

The whole office went silent.

Everyone knew Opaline Corp ran on me.

If I walked out, ninety percent of the company's contracts would go with me. Opaline wouldn't survive it.

People immediately jumped to their feet.

"Dylan's here thirty minutes early every day. In ten years, this is the first mistake he's ever made. Just let it go."

Wendy's expression darkened. Instead of answering, she sent me a message.

[Behave. Take the hit for now. Whatever you're upset about, we'll talk at home. Don't make a scene and embarrass us.]

I didn't bother replying.

The silence made everyone even more nervous. One coworker hurried forward.

"Forget it. I'll take the punishment. I'll eat the worms. Dylan, calm down. Don't do something you'll regret."

He didn't get it.

I wasn't acting on emotion.

This time, I meant it.

Back when Wendy and I first started the company, she loved making an example out of me. If I accidentally printed one extra copy of a document, she'd tear into me in front of everyone.

Later, she'd wrap her arms around me and explain,

"Honey, I know it's rough. But I have to manage the company. If they see me calling out even my own husband, they'll respect the rules."

I understood how hard she worked to keep the business running.

So I put up with it. I swallowed every bit of frustration and let her walk all over me.

Then Tristan Crocker—Wendy's younger college friend—joined Opaline Corp.

From day one, he was a walking disaster.

He was constantly late, printing the wrong files, and costing the company money.

More than once.

But Wendy never punished him.

Instead, she'd reward him with paid time off so he could "reset his mindset."

When I questioned her, she'd massage my aching shoulders and patiently talk me down.

"Honey, times are different now. Punishment doesn't work on younger employees. Positive reinforcement is what motivates them."

I believed her.

Right up until a new young employee accidentally called her by the wrong name.

Wendy publicly chewed her out for three straight hours. "You can't even get something this simple right? What are you good for?

"Get out. We don't hire garbage here."