Chapter 2: The Humiliation

Someone once asked me, “How’s Derek’s technical ability?”

I replied, “Average. He’s better at schmoozing.”

Word got back to Derek.

I meant nothing by it, but he took it to heart.

Derek presented himself as the ‘chief engineer’ at every launch event—he couldn’t stand anyone exposing his background.

When the economy took a downturn, tech companies everywhere felt the pinch.

Vivid’s stock price dropped. Rumors of layoffs swirled.

I never imagined I’d be the first one cut.

I returned to my desk to pack up, feeling completely lost.

My hands shook a little as I tried to stuff my headphones into a battered backpack. The laughter from the sales team down the hall grated in my ears. Was I really invisible to everyone?

I heard, “Good morning, Mr. Benson,” at the door. Looking up, I saw Derek, now sporting a big belly, striding over.

Maybe too many business dinners—he’d ballooned into a greasy, middle-aged man in just three years.

He greeted everyone with a big smile: “Morning, everyone! Good morning!”

His voice had that performative cheer, the kind of volume reserved for pep rallies and shareholder meetings. People half-smiled, not really meeting his eyes.

He waddled over to me, feigning surprise: “Oh, Alex, why are you packing up?”

A few people glanced my way.

Derek suddenly seemed to remember something and said loudly, “Wait, is Alex being laid off?”

His outburst brought the whole office to a halt—everyone stared at me.

I replied, “Yeah. I need to finish packing, so if you’ll excuse me.”

But Derek wasn’t really talking to me.

He turned, circling around me with a look of mock regret:

“What a shame. Alex is one of our old hands.”

“The company’s making adjustments, and they actually let Alex go. I just don’t get it—there are so many tech staff, why you?”

“Did they review everyone’s performance reviews?”

I never liked pointless formalities, so I kept my reports and summaries brief, focusing on real work.

The performance reviews Derek mentioned were just another formality.

“I’ve worked with Alex, and I’m truly saddened.”

“But the company doesn’t keep slackers.”

“If Alex leaves and everything runs smoothly, everyone will see who was just collecting a paycheck without working.”

The more he talked, the louder he got, shooting me a look full of schadenfreude.

If there was an HR bingo card, he just hit every square: public shaming, fake sympathy, subtle threat. The team shifted uncomfortably, some glancing down at their phones. I heard someone whisper, "Man, this is awkward." My cheeks burned, but I kept my head high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.