Hold onto your butts, folks: pandering to these Gen Y and Z parasites isn’t just on the menu, it’s the main course. We’ve got to pamper these fragile snowflakes just so they’ll consider gracing us with a few minutes of their precious, TikTok-addled brains.
After decades of stagnant, grandpa-style management, it’s painfully obvious that we need a revamp. Here’s the harsh reality: the heroes of yesteryear aren’t beating down our doors for jobs anymore. Good talent is rarer than a unicorn, and we need to entice and keep these rockstars if we want to survive.
Today, the power dynamic has flipped: it’s on us to seduce and charm, even if it makes us want to puke.
So here we are, begrudgingly dragging ourselves into action.
Welcome to the big top circus:
Two days of remote work a week for that oh-so-precious work-life balance.
Overpriced meal vouchers to fund their goddamn artisanal salads.
Couches everywhere, because the urge to nap can strike any entitled brat at any moment.
A lactation room for milking moms, even though, thank God, Kevin and Lola have stopped breeding.
Water fountains and two herbal tea stations per floor.
Rooftop terrace, ground floor terrace, ping pong tables, and foosball.
Two gyms to keep their pampered asses in shape.
Ergonomic workstations to cradle their fragile frames.
Bike garage, scooter boxes.
I lobbied for a slide and a ball pit, but they shot me down over insurance issues. Bunch of killjoys.
After years of denial and countless management screw-ups, Sauron finally woke up one morning with the epiphany that the Company needed a sharp turn and drastic reforms to survive.
A realization as late as it was overdue. I’d tried to rattle the old fossil’s cage multiple times, but always hit a wall.
“Reznyk, this is our last chance.
Our fate is in the hands of these motherfuckers who don’t even screw anymore.
I just launched Work-Life Quality Week… Have you seen the program for this pathetic wank-fest?
Conferences on the future of work, vitamin smoothie workshops, chair massages, light therapy.
This is what we’ve become.
So, is this our new daily grind? Jerking off these sexless divas so they don’t storm out?
When did this world go batshit crazy?”
For a split second, I had the insane urge to be honest and tell him we’re way off the mark, that this whole circus is the least of our problems. That in a just world, his obscene salary, his palatial office, his luxury sedan, his two chauffeurs, and his harem of suck-ups would’ve landed him a one-way trip to the guillotine.
You miserable bastard, your head should’ve been on a pike in front of the door of the accounting service ages ago.
Luckily, my survival instinct kicked in and I bit my tongue.
Sauron stood before the bay window of his lavish office, his gaze lost over the rooftops of Paris painted with the hues of twilight.
“I know we understand each other.
Deep down, I could kick these useless larvae to the curb and rely on a dozen guys like you.
Solid men, fully committed to public service, driven by real values, imbued with a sense of sacrifice and selflessness.
Care for a whisky? This 24-year-old Ardbeg is a peaty masterpiece.”
His despair was palpable. It was the end of his civilization.
“It would have been a pleasure, sir, but my guided meditation session starts in five minutes at the HR ashram.”