The Story:
It was the most important meeting of my year: the annual performance review. I had spent the entire weekend preparing, outlining my accomplishments, calculating my value to the company, and rehearsing my pitch for a significant salary increase. I put on a blazer over my pajama bottoms, adjusted my lighting to look professional, and logged into the call with a stomach full of butterflies. I had a serious performance review with my boss over Zoom when disaster struck.
The first ten minutes went smoothly. My boss, Sarah, a no-nonsense woman with a perpetual poker face, was nodding along as I listed my successful projects. Then, my cat, Barnaby, decided it was the perfect time for attention. He leaped onto the desk, tail held high, and before I could react, he sauntered across the laptop. My cat walked across the keyboard and turned on a filter, and I was suddenly a potato.
On the screen, my professional headshot was replaced by a lumpy, brown baked russet with two crudely drawn eyes and a mouth that moved when I spoke. I froze. On the other end of the call, Sarah’s poker face cracked. Her eyes widened, and she let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-snort.
I frantically clicked around, trying to find the settings menu, my potato-self’s eyes darting wildly on the screen. Since I didn’t know how to turoff, I had no choice but to push through. I took a deep breath, looked directly into the camera, and decided to own it.
“As I was saying, Sarah,” I continued, my voice steady even as my digital potato mouth flapped absurdly, “my leadership on the Q3 project resulted in a 15% increase in efficiency.”
The absurdity of the situation was almost unbearable. I had to finish the negotiation for my raise while looking like a baked russet. I laid out my case for a 10% raise, listing my contributions with as much gravitas as a root vegetable could muster. To her credit, Sarah composed herself and listened, though I could see the corner of her mouth twitching.
When I finished my pitch, there was a long silence. Then, Sarah started to laugh—a full, genuine laugh I had never heard before. “You know,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye, “anyone who can maintain that level of professionalism while looking like a side dish deserves a reward. That’s grace under pressure.”
Surprisingly, the strategy worked, and I got the raise. I may have lost my dignity that day, but I gained a promotion and a salary bump, proving that sometimes, the best career move is to just be a potato.