Leave to Lead

Dale stood in the break room, watching his leftover salmon circle slowly inside the microwave. It steamed inside a stained Tupperware he didn’t recognize. The smell had already settled into the ceiling tiles. It was 10:04 a.m.

The employee bulletin board beside him offered nothing useful. One flyer: “Q3 Wellness Push: Hydrate With Gratitude.” Above it, another: “De-Escalating Workplace Feedback With Smile-Based Language.”

The microwave beeped. Dale opened the door. Steam hit his glasses. He dug in a fork, blew once.

The break room door swung open.

“Hey there, Dale-o!” chirped Makenna—the self-appointed Employee Engagement Coordinator. Her shirt read: FUN: A Daily KPI! “Guess what time it is?”

He paused, fork midair. “Lunch?”

“Nooope!”

She took the fork from his hand and dropped it into the sink. The bite wobbled, splashed his badge.

“Mandatory Fun Hour! Trust falls, empathy bingo, the whole joy stack!”

She sniffed his lunch and made a face. “Yeah...we’re flagging this as a biohazard.” She dropped the salmon in a red bin labeled Organic Threats.

Dale blinked. The microwave clicked. The salmon hissed faintly inside the bin.

Workdays blurred. Slack threads looped contradictions in real time. Calendar invites stacked without context: Q1 Qulture Sync, 5-Minute Stand-Stretch-Sync, Wellness Huddle (Optional Mandatory). Meetings bled into each other. Marjorie’s face glowed from her ring light. She looked trapped.

At 11:43 p.m., three emails landed: each titled “Reclaiming Your Work-Life Balance,” each from a different VP. Each contained PDFs and the phrase radical presence.

Tuesday. Team meeting. Dale sneezed—once, into his elbow.

Marjorie stopped. “Okay, wow. That was disruptive.”

She smiled without blinking. “We’ll go ahead and schedule a Corrective Positivity Check-In, yes?”

Dale rubbed his nose. “You know what?”

He didn’t look up. Didn’t even raise his voice.

“I quit.”

The PowerPoint advanced. No one looked up.

Kyle clapped first. Full-volume.

“Dude,” he said, “that was iconic. Like, performance art. Meta-resignation mid-pipeline review? I’m vibing hard.”

Dale frowned. “I wasn’t—”

Kyle held up a phone. “Say it again. Slower. Face the camera a little. It’s for TikTok.”

Marjorie didn’t glance away from her screen. “Looping in HR. ‘Creative divergence incident.’ Thanks for modeling boundary-setting, Dale.”

That afternoon, a drone dropped an envelope onto Dale’s desk. Comic Sans font: We Support Your Journey™. It smelled faintly like lavender.

Inside:

A pamphlet: "Pivoting with Power: Leaving Your Role Without Leaving Your Desk"

Three blank mandala pages for “emotional check-ins”

Scratch-and-sniff sticker sheet: Ocean Mindset, Clarity Citrus, Neutral Vanilla

A certificate of Imminent Empowerment, signed by the VP of People & Conscious Transitions

Sticky note on top: “So proud of you, D! Let us know when you’re emotionally ready to circle back. xoxo, HR 🌱”

Next morning, Dale checked the directory. His job title had changed.

Gone: Junior Assistant to the Associate Operations Liaison. Now: Strategic Fulfillment Catalyst (Provisional)

His bank app pinged. A $5,000 bump. Memo line: Retain D Talent – URGENT.

He pinged Marjorie.

Dale: pretty sure I said I quit

Marjorie: oh totally! so proud of your trajectory reframe. also—you’re presenting at EMEA Friday 😇

His Slack exploded.

Kyle: bro you broke the system

Alicia (UX): can u “quit” for me too lol

Kenny (Legal): congrats? what do you do now

Dale didn’t answer. His calendar filled with sessions: Blue Sky Congruency Pulse, Dreaming Forward: No-Agenda, Vertical Alignment Summit. All included inspirational quote footers.

Slackbot pinged him privately.

Slackbot (Empathy Module Enabled):

🧠 heard you’re transforming. want a mentor from Inverted Org Chart cohort?

He walked to the break room. Kyle was microwaving coffee—no mug, just directly on the glass.

“Don’t walk it back,” Kyle whispered. “You’re on the Inspirational Wall. Right next to the beanbag graveyard.”

Dale picked up a water bottle. Laser-etched name: DALE WHITTAKER – STRATEGIC FULFILLMENT CATALYST™

He didn’t own a water bottle.

Back at his desk: new monitor. No note. Logged in. Zoom app open. Recording.

Someone on the other end was waiting.. The fish, once respectable, now slumped inside a stained Tupperware he never remembered buying. It was 10:04 a.m.

He glanced at the employee bulletin board. New flyer: “Q3 Wellness Push: Hydrate With Gratitude.” Above it, last week’s: “De-Escalating Workplace Feedback With Smile-Based Language.”

The microwave beeped. Dale opened the door, steam smacking his face. He stabbed a bite, blew on it. The break room door burst open.

“Hey there, Dale-o!” chirped Makenna, the self-declared Employee Engagement Coordinator, wearing a shirt that read FUN: A Daily KPI! “Guess what time it is?”

He paused mid-bite. “Lunch?”

“Nooope!” she grinned. “Mandatory Fun Hour! Come on, we’re doing interpretive trust falls and blindfolded empathy bingo!”

She plucked the fork from his hand. His bite hovered in midair, dripping onto his badge.

“Also,” she sniffed the Tupperware and winced, “we’re gonna go ahead and log this as a biohazard. Sorry, not sorry!” She dropped it in a red plastic bin labeled Organic Threats.

Dale blinked once. Twice. The salmon hissed as it died again.

His workdays were indistinguishable loops: Slack pings contradicted each other in real time, calendar invites stacked like spam—Q1 Qulture Sync, 5-Minute Stand-Stretch-Sync, Wellness Huddle (Optional Mandatory). Meetings bled into meetings with no agenda, no end, just Marjorie smiling through a ring light like a hostage.

At 11:43 PM, three emails arrived titled “Reclaiming Your Work-Life Balance.” Each came from a different VP, each offered different PDF worksheets, each used the phrase “radical presence” like a threat.

Now: a Tuesday team meeting. Dale sneezed once—quiet, into his elbow.

Marjorie froze mid-sentence. “Okay, wow. That was disruptive.” She smiled too wide. “Let’s go ahead and schedule a Corrective Positivity Check-In, yes?”

Dale, still blinking, rubbed his nose. Then, softly, to no one in particular:

“You know what? I quit.”

No one even paused the PowerPoint.

Kyle was the first to react.

He clapped.

Like, full-on, post-theater, curtain-call clapping. “Dude,” he said, still applauding, “that was iconic. Seriously, performance art? Meta-resignation in the middle of a synergy pipeline brainstorm? I’m vibing hard.”

Dale blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“I knew you were gonna subvert the brief,” Kyle interrupted, now pulling out his phone. “Can I film a quick TikTok? Just mouth what you said again but slower—‘I quit’—yeah, like that, but turn your head a little.”

Marjorie didn’t look up from her laptop. “I’m looping in HR on this as a ‘creative divergence incident.’ Thank you for being brave enough to model boundary-setting in front of leadership, Dale.”

Later that afternoon, an envelope arrived via inter-office drone. It hit Dale’s desk with a thump and the faint scent of lavender. On the front, printed in Comic Sans: We Support Your Journey™.

Inside:

– A pamphlet titled "Pivoting with Power: Leaving Your Role Without Leaving Your Desk"

– Three pages of “emotional check-in mandalas,” all blank

– A scratch-and-sniff sticker sheet (scent options: “Ocean Mindset,” “Clarity Citrus,” and “Neutral Vanilla”)

– A certificate of “Imminent Empowerment” signed by the Vice President of People & Conscious Transitions

Underneath it all: a sticky note that read, “So proud of you, D! Let us know when you’re emotionally ready to circle back. xoxo, HR 🌱”

The next morning, Dale logged in to find his job title changed in the company directory. Gone was Junior Assistant to the Associate Operations Liaison. Now it read:

“Strategic Fulfillment Catalyst (Provisional)”

A $5,000 salary bump showed up in his direct deposit with the memo line: “Retain D Talent – URGENT.”

He messaged Marjorie.

Dale: Hey. Pretty sure I said I quit?

Marjorie (typing…)

Marjorie: 💬 Oh totally! We’re so proud of you for reframing your trajectory from within. Leadership loved it. Also, you’re presenting at the EMEA summit Friday, hope that’s cool! 😇

In Slack, people began @-ing him constantly.

Kyle: bro how did you hack the system?

Alicia from UX: can you “quit” for me too lol

Kenny from Legal: just got your updated title, congrats?? also what do you do now?

Dale had no answer. His calendar was suddenly booked with invites titled “Blue Sky Congruency Pulse,” “Vertical Alignment Summit,” and “Dreaming Forward: An Intentional No-Agenda Session.” Each came with a Zoom link and an AI-generated inspirational quote in the description box.

That afternoon, a Slackbot messaged him privately.

Slackbot (Empathy Module Enabled): 🧠 hi Dale! we heard you’re embracing inner transformation. would you like a mentor from the Inverted Org Chart cohort?

Dale walked to the break room in a daze. Kyle was there microwaving coffee with no cup—just pouring it directly into the turntable.

“Dude,” Kyle whispered, “don’t walk this back. You’re a legend now. They put your name on the Inspirational Wall downstairs. Right next to the beanbag graveyard.”

Dale nodded, slowly. He reached for a water bottle but stopped. His name was on it. He didn’t own a water bottle.

DALE WHITTAKER – STRATEGIC FULFILLMENT CATALYST™

Laser-etched. The ™ symbol was real.

He went back to his desk. A new monitor had been installed. His old one was gone.

No note. Just the screen, already logged in. A single app open: Zoom. Recording.

Someone on the other end was waiting.

The woman on the other end—a floating head framed by abstract art and a shelf of unread leadership books—nodded slowly, reverently, to his silence. “That… was powerful,” she whispered.

Ten minutes later, he received an email with the subject: Welcome, Chief Vision Architect. His employee ID badge auto-updated with a new title and an animated border that shimmered when tilted. No one explained what he was architecting, or whose vision it was.

He tried not showing up the next day.

By lunch, he'd been tagged in three “Congrats, Dale!! 🎉” LinkedIn posts, each declaring him “an essential force in corporate transcendence.” One included a selfie of Kyle making finger hearts next to Dale’s empty chair, captioned: The chair that inspired a movement.

He unplugged his mouse. Two minutes later, IT messaged:

“Noticed you’re embracing analog space! We love that. So brave. You’re a pioneer of digital deceleration.”

The less he did, the more power he gained.

One afternoon, he slept under his desk. Just curled up on the carpet between a forgotten whiteboard and a granola bar from 2017. He woke up to applause.

Kyle and Marjorie stood nearby, filming.

“You guys,” Marjorie said, blinking tears, “he’s embodying surrender culture. It’s—God, it’s so raw.”

She handed him a coffee mug with a new logo:

Dale Whittaker – CVA | Chief Vision Architect

“Sometimes quitting is leading.”

By the end of the week, Dale’s name appeared on internal memos titled “Resignation-Driven Leadership: A Case Study.” HR sent him a fleece vest embroidered with his face and the slogan: Leave to Lead.

He tried emailing his resignation. The message bounced back with a cheerful auto-response:

“This inbox no longer accepts traditional quitting. Please submit through our intuitive shadow board process or blink twice during your next self-reflective nap.”

He blinked. Twice. Nothing happened.

He walked to the elevator. The button lit up red and said: “Access Restricted: Too Integral To Exit.”

Even the cleaning staff nodded when they saw him. “Vision guy,” one whispered.

Dale sat in the hallway, unsure if he still had legs under the fleece.

A new Slack channel appeared: #WhereDaleLeadsWeFollow.

He posted one word—“No.”

It got 3,400 emoji reacts.

The top comment: “A minimalist manifesto. ❤️🧠🔥”

He stopped trying. No one noticed. He was already being scheduled for a TED Talk.

Dale waited until 6:03 p.m.—the precise moment when corporate overlords were least attentive but most publicly supportive of “boundaries.” He slipped past the kombucha fridge, through the meditation closet, and climbed the back stairwell to the 27th floor: the CEO’s office.

No one ever went up there. It was only referenced in vague, reverent tones—“He’s always watching,” Marjorie once whispered, nodding to the ceiling.

The office door was matte black with no handle, just a scanner. Dale didn’t swipe his badge. He knocked. Once.

The door slid open with a hiss.

Inside: dim lighting, gray carpet, a lone ergonomic chair spinning slowly in the dead center of the room. Behind it, a blinking modem sat on a pedestal, humming like a ritual object. Blue cables pulsed softly like veins.

Dale stepped in. The chair stopped spinning.

A speaker embedded in the wall crackled.

“Dale Whittaker,” it said. The voice was genderless, calm, vaguely British. “You’ve demonstrated exceptional disengagement. You are now eligible for equity.”

“I just want to leave,” Dale said, quietly.

“You already did,” the voice replied. “You just kept getting promoted.”

The modem blinked faster. “Do you accept your shares?”

“What if I don’t?”

There was a pause, then a tone—like a soft notification chime.

“We’ll interpret silence as enthusiastic consent.”

Dale stood still.

A green light on the modem flashed. A small drawer opened, revealing a manila envelope and a single apple-shaped USB stick labeled Vision Seed™.

He took them both.

The next morning, Dale returned to the office smiling. No one asked where he’d been. His monitor wallpaper had changed to an abstract portrait of his own face, reimagined as a cloud.

His inbox contained only one message:

SUBJECT: 🌱 Welcome to Founder Frequency

BODY: “You are now part of the Infinite Table. Please pick your onboarding mantra.”

He chose: “Transparency is just visibility rebranded.”

Soon, his video appeared in the new hire welcome packet. Every onboarding began with his face—expressionless, bathed in soft teal light, whispering:

“You’re not working for FlexiCore. You are FlexiCore.”

In orientation sessions, Kyle—now Head of Cultural Evangelism—told wide-eyed interns, “Dale Whittaker is the model of work-life synergy. He transcended the ‘job’ paradigm. He didn’t quit. He became.”

A cardboard cutout of Dale stood in the lobby, pointing at a sign that read:

“Sometimes the best way to lead is to stop participating.” — Chief Vision Architect Dale Whittaker

Dale himself no longer spoke much. He mostly blinked. Smiled faintly. Nodded when people passed. He’d achieved full resonance.

At night, alone in the elevator, he would sometimes try pressing Ground.

Nothing ever happened.