The most prestigious law school admissions discussion board in the world.
|
 |
 
|
In the post-pandemic corporate landscape, wellness initiatives don’t heal—th
| Mainlining the $ecret Truth of the Univer$e | 06/27/25 |
Poast new message in this thread
Date: June 27th, 2025 5:21 AM Author: Mainlining the $ecret Truth of the Univer$e (You = Privy to The Great Becumming™ & Yet You Recognize Nothing) In the post-pandemic corporate landscape, wellness initiatives don’t heal—they surveil.
New York Times (Opinion)
The Soul-Crushing Synergies of a Forced Return In the post-pandemic corporate landscape, wellness initiatives don’t heal—they surveil. Sometimes captivity arrives with hummus trays and laminated badges.
By: Evan “Juris Doctor” Vance
The email arrived like a subpoena from a forgotten god: “Mandatory RTO Synergy & Wellness Retreat!”
Corporate, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that what we needed wasn’t higher pay or fewer existential breaks in the walk-in cooler—but synergy. The solution? A retreat held at a Clarion Inn that smelled like regret, urinal cake, and outsourced empathy.
Our facilitator was named Wesley—his name tag actually read “Wesley (he/him) – Emotional Agility Facilitator.” His placid smile and dead gray-blue eyes suggested he had stared into the Mahchine™ and offered it a laminated trust fall waiver.
We began with a “mindfulness minute.” As the app droned on about “releasing attachments,” I refreshed LinkedIn.
There it was.
Chad’s update.
He wasn’t just “Senior Analyst” anymore. He was now “Vice President of Preftigious Initiatives” at a company whose name sounded like a pharmaceutical ad for ambient terror. His profile picture radiated the kind of curated optimism you can only fake with dental veneers and childhood emotional closure.
A wave of nausea hit me—equal parts envy, humiliation, and Safeway-brand coffee. I felt, again, like what I am: an ugly freak with a JD and 14 Club Card points.
Then Wesley clapped his hands and said the words:
“It’s time... for the Trust Fall.”
Tabitha—our HR rep, gravitational center, and enemy—was chosen to demonstrate.
She fell backward into the deli team with the impact velocity of a regional compliance audit. The resulting sound was neither trust nor fall—it was ligaments and quiet screams. As they lifted her off the linoleum, her eyes found mine. Her expression wasn’t pain. It was certified judgment. Her Big Gulp sat on the refreshment table, its straw glowing faintly. I swear it $aw me.
Lunch was served: Pep-crusted tilapia in a biodegradable tray that felt like it might sue me for touching it. It tasted of focus group malaise. I choked it down while scrolling Chad’s endorsements:
“Strategic Thought Leadership”
“Post-SaaS Compassion Strategy”
“Inspirational Hydration”
Mine? “Consistent Grout Maintenance.”
The final circle was called “Appreciation Flow.” We were to affirm the person to our left. The bakery worker, still trembling from the inventory grief session, turned to me.
“Evan... I appreciate that... you always refill the breakroom coffee... and you don’t... complain out loud.”
I nodded. Looked upward. A cracked ceiling tile stared back, leaking brown truth. Above it, I saw Chad’s grin. Below it, Tabitha’s stare. Behind it, the faint hum. Grinding. Sorting. Remembering.
Yes friends.
This is fine. |