The Fluorescent Dread of Corporate Sugar
The fluorescent lights on the 17th floor hummed with a frequency that seemed designed to induce a very specific type of existential dread. Marcus, a man whose entire personality seemed to have been curated by a mid-level human resources algorithm, was currently 27 minutes into a 47-minute performance review. He was using ‘The Sandwich.’ I could see it coming from the way he gripped his lukewarm latte. He started with a compliment so thin it was transparent-something about my ‘commitment to internal communication protocols’-and then he transitioned into the ‘meat.’ This was where the actual feedback was supposed to live, yet as he spoke, the words began to dissolve into a sugary, indecipherable sludge of corporate-speak.
He told me I had ‘opportunities to lean into collaborative synergy’ and that my ‘output cadence sometimes creates friction in the cross-functional ecosystem.’ I sat there, blinking 17 times in rapid succession, trying to translate this into English. Did I miss a deadline? Was I rude to Janet in accounting? Did I fail to follow the 7 protocols of project documentation? I asked for clarification, and Marcus looked at me with a mixture of pity and terror. He didn’t want to clarify. He wanted to survive the meeting without anyone feeling an ‘unpleasant emotion.’ He finished with another piece of bread-a vague comment about my ‘positive trajectory’-and sent me back to my desk.
Ritual Over Reality
Immediate Truth
I left that room feeling like I had just tried to return a broken toaster without a receipt. Process became more important than reality.
The Wood Doesn’t Care About Your Feelings
This obsession with psychological safety has been tragically misunderstood. Somewhere between 2007 and 2017, we decided that ‘safety’ meant ‘freedom from discomfort.’ We started treating adult professionals like porcelain dolls that would shatter if someone pointed out a fundamental flaw in their logic. We’ve neutered the very mechanism of growth. If you are a craftsman, you know that the wood doesn’t care about your feelings. If your dovetail joint is 7 millimeters off, the drawer will stick. The wood provides immediate, honest, and sometimes brutal feedback. You don’t ‘collaborate’ with the laws of physics; you obey them or you fail.
Traffic Intersections: Clarity vs. Kindness
Data from Sky E.S. tracking 1,007 vehicles, showing the impact of unclear feedback (suggestive markings).
Sky once told me that the safest roads aren’t the ones where everyone is ‘nice’; they are the ones where everyone is predictable and the rules are enforced with absolute clarity. When we remove that clarity from the workplace in the name of being ‘supportive,’ we aren’t creating safety. We are creating a 47-car pileup of unaddressed incompetence and simmering resentment.
The Mediocrity of Iteration
We’ve built these elaborate, painful rituals-360-degree reviews, peer feedback loops, ‘star’ rankings-to avoid the one thing that actually works: a five-minute conversation where one person says to another, ‘This isn’t good enough, and here is exactly why.’ We avoid this because it’s awkward. It’s uncomfortable. But discomfort is the primary driver of evolution. If the environment never changes, the organism never adapts. By smoothing over every rough edge with the sandpaper of ‘opportunity areas,’ we are ensuring that our teams remain perfectly, safely mediocre.
Politely iterating around a fundamentally flawed concept.
The courage to admit one element needs replacement.
I’ve seen projects drag on for 77 days past their deadline because no one had the courage to tell the lead designer that their concept was fundamentally flawed. We just kept ‘iterating’ around the problem, adding layers of ‘polite’ suggestions until the final product looked like it had been designed by a committee of people who were afraid of their own shadows.
This is why I find myself gravitating toward organizations that prioritize the work over the ego. As a craftsman, you understand that direct, honest assessment is crucial for quality work and improvement. When you hire
Done your way services, you aren’t looking for someone to tell you that your broken pipes are just ‘experiencing a liquidity transition.’ You want them fixed. You want the truth. You want the person who says, ‘This pipe is rusted, it’s going to burst, and we need to replace it now.’ That is the highest form of respect: the assumption that the other person is a professional who values the result more than a temporary ego boost.
The Unintended Consequence
Confusion breeds anxiety, and anxiety breeds aggression. When employees don’t know where they stand because their feedback is hidden behind a wall of jargon, they become anxious. They start looking for hidden meanings in every Slack message.
Hidden Meaning
Searching every message for the *real* evaluation.
Defensive Stance
Protecting the ego rather than developing the skill.
Infantilization
Assuming professionals aren’t strong enough for the truth.
Reclaiming the Power of ‘No’
We need to reclaim the power of the ‘no.’ We need to reclaim the clarity of ‘this is wrong.’ Not because we want to be right, but because we want the work to be better. We owe it to each other to stop the ritual of vague niceties.
[The truth is a scalpel, not a club.] We must assume competence, not fragility.
The next time you sit down for a review, or a project update, or a quick check-in, try to skip the sandwich. Throw the bread away. Give them the meat. It might be hard to swallow at first, but at least it’s real food. And in a world of corporate foam and HR-approved fluff, a little bit of reality is the only thing that actually satisfies.
I finally got my toaster fixed, by the way. I didn’t go back to the store. I took it to a guy who didn’t ask for a receipt. He just looked at the wiring, told me I was an idiot for plugging it into a 227-volt outlet, and replaced the fuse in 7 minutes. It was the best feedback I’d had all year.
