Revolt Over the $5,000 Vacation

I got crucified online by the new intern. She claimed the company was forcing us to give up our vacation time for a team-building retreat.
No one wants to fly to some remote island to play happy families with their coworkers.
What the internet didn't know was that our company’s “team-building tradition” was a bit different.
Every year, I book an entire five-star resort, all expenses paid. Employees can bring a plus-one. On top of that, everyone gets three extra days of paid time off. The budget is five thousand dollars per person.
But now, the entire internet was calling me a cold-blooded capitalist. So, I decided to grant their wish. I sent out a company-wide notice.
“In response to employee feedback and to respect everyone’s personal time, this year’s corporate retreat is canceled. In its place, a 0-000 travel voucher will be issued to each employee.”
The moment the announcement dropped, my company imploded. The veteran employees mobbed my office, begging me to bring back the sun and sand of the Maldives.

1
I had just finalized this year’s retreat plans with Catherine, my Director of Administration.
“So this is the one, Arthur? A six-star private island in the Maldives, all-inclusive.” Catherine’s voice buzzed with excitement.
I nodded, a sense of deep satisfaction washing over me.
Years ago, crammed into a grimy little office not much bigger than a closet, I made a promise to my founding team: “One day, I’m going to take all of you to the most beautiful place in the world to celebrate our success.”
I never forgot that promise.
“The budget is five thousand per head,” I told Catherine. “Not a single cent is to be spared. And make sure everyone knows they get three additional days of paid time off. Emphasize paid.”
Catherine grinned as she closed her tablet. “The company group chat is going to explode when they see this.”
She was right. The moment the announcement went live in the 400-person group chat, it was flooded with a tidal wave of cheering emojis.
Dave, one of our lead engineers, posted a photo of his family. “This is amazing! I promised my daughter we’d see sea turtles this year. Now we can!”
A newlywed couple from the marketing department was already debating if they should use the trip as a belated honeymoon.
The entire company was buzzing with a holiday-like joy.
I watched the endless stream of thank-you messages scroll across my phone screen, a warmth spreading through my chest.
Then, a discordant note cut through the harmony.
It was the new intern, Zoe.
She dropped a link to an influencer’s viral video ranting about pointless corporate retreats, followed by a breezy comment: “Seriously? In this day and age, companies are still doing mandatory fun? I’d rather just chill at home.”
The vibrant chat went dead silent.
Mark, her department head, quickly tried to smooth things over. “Zoe’s new, she doesn’t know the deal yet. Our company retreat is a top-tier perk. You’d be losing out big time if you skipped it.”
Another colleague added a passive-aggressive jab, “Yeah, some people would kill for an opportunity like this.”
Zoe’s reply was instant: an eye-roll emoji. “Nah, I’m good. Not interested in wasting my life faking it with coworkers I barely know.”
“If the boss really has this much money to burn,” she continued, “he should just give us the cash instead. It’s more practical.”
Her words sucked all the remaining air out of the room.
A few of the senior employees who had been celebrating moments before quietly retracted their messages.
I even saw a couple of anonymous avatars give Zoe’s comment a “like,” only to quickly undo it seconds later.
That afternoon, there was a knock on my office door.
It was Zoe.
She sauntered in wearing trendy slides, sipping a bubble tea, showing zero of the usual intern-in-the-CEO’s-office nervousness.
“Got a minute, Arthur?” She jutted her chin out and plopped herself down on the sofa opposite my desk.
“I think this whole company retreat thing is… outdated. My generation, we’re all about work-life separation. You’re spending all this money to force us together and make us put on fake smiles. It’s exhausting.”
She looked at me, her expression radiating a kind of defiant righteousness. “It’s a form of emotional labor, you know? It would be so much better for everyone if you just paid us out.”
I stared at her, at this intern who seemed to think she was here to teach me how to run my own company. The absurdity of it was almost comical.
“The company retreat,” I said, my voice level, “is a trip to honor our top performers. It’s a form of collective recognition, not a benefit to be haggled over like you’re at a flea market.”
Zoe pouted. “Fine, whatever. Forget I said anything.”
She stood up and headed for the door, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “So preachy. So lame.”
As the workday was ending, I saw Gary, a resident schemer who’d been with the company for years, huddle with a few younger employees around Zoe’s desk.
Gary’s face was plastered with a sycophantic grin. “Zoe, that idea of yours? We’re all behind you! You said what we were all thinking! Don’t worry, if anything happens, I’ve got your back.”
Zoe’s eyebrow arched in triumph. “Don’t worry, Gary,” she whispered. “Watch this.”
I watched as she took out her phone. She snapped a picture of her computer screen, then flipped the camera to selfie mode. Her expression instantly shifted to one of pure, soul-crushing misery. She even added a grim, gray filter.
Her lips moved, silently mouthing the words, “Help me!”
A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Later that evening, after I’d gotten home, a video notification popped up on my phone.
The title was written in a dramatic, clickbait font: “As an intern, my boss is forcing me to go on a $5k company retreat. You can have my ‘perk’.”
The thumbnail was Zoe’s face, etched with the anguish of a hostage.
My heart sank. I clicked play.
The video opened with a sleek promotional clip of the six-star Maldivian resort, but Zoe had drained it of all color, setting it to a mournful piano track.
Text appeared on the screen: “The pipe dream my boss is selling. Looks nice, doesn’t it?”
The scene cut to her desk at the office, with a tight zoom on a generic spreadsheet.
“Too bad I’m just a wage slave who wants to go home in peace.”
Then, a close-up of her, eyes glistening as if on the verge of tears. “They told me I have to give up my precious personal weekend for a massive corporate performance… Thanks, I hate it.”
She had cleverly twisted the “three extra days of paid leave” into “stealing my weekend.”
For the finale, she stared directly into the camera, her voice a pained whisper. “I don’t want the Maldives. I just want to sleep in on a Sunday. If this is a perk, someone else can have it.”
The comment section, predictably, had erupted.
“Gen Z is here to fix the workplace! Drop the company name, we’ll help you burn it down!”
“I hate bosses like this. It’s pure self-indulgence! My job is to work, not to be your mandatory friend.”
“You’re speaking my language. As an introvert, company retreats are my personal hell. Just give us back our time!”
My hands felt ice-cold.
Three days of paid vacation had become “stealing my precious weekend.”
A five-thousand-dollar luxury reward had become “hostage-taking.”
The next morning, the office air was thick with tension.
Several employees were clustered around Zoe’s desk. They were saying things like, “That was so bold of you,” but their faces were alight with the thrill of watching a good train wreck.
Gary, the old-timer, took it a step further. He walked right up to her and led her toward my office.
The moment he stepped inside, he started with a fake, placating tone.
“Arthur, please don’t be angry. What Zoe did… well, the method was extreme, but she really did voice what a lot of the younger staff are feeling. Maybe you should… you know, listen to the people?”
Zoe stood beside him, arms crossed, a smug, untouchable look on her face.
She shook her phone at me. “See, Arthur? This is the will of the people. This is the future.”
“The company’s traditions and policies will not be changed by anyone’s baseless tantrums,” I said, my voice flat.
Zoe scoffed. “Traditions? Traditions are meant to be broken. If you don’t find a way to give the people what they want, I can’t guarantee this won’t be trending nationally tomorrow.”
Just as the words left her mouth, my assistant burst in, her face pale.
“Arthur, it’s bad. Zoe’s video… it’s a top trending topic!”
I refreshed my phone. She was right.
But what truly chilled me to the bone were several anonymous comments under the video whose IP addresses originated from our office building.
“Yeah, right. ‘Luxury trip.’ Last year’s hotel was smaller than my bathroom at home.”
“A perk? It’s just another empty promise. The budget is supposedly $5k, but I’d be surprised if they spent even five hundred on that dump.”
The blatant lies made my head spin.
They wanted the lavish company perks, but they also wanted to push an intern out front to take all the risks, hoping that if they made enough noise, the trip would be converted into cash.
This calculated, greedy selfishness shattered years of my goodwill.
I looked at the two triumphant figures before me and suddenly felt that everything was meaningless. Overnight, my company had gone from the gold standard—the one everyone envied—to a "toxic sweatshop" being dragged through the mud online.
The company’s name, my photo—it had all been doxed.
My phone was vibrating incessantly on my desk, a flood of abusive messages and harassing calls pouring in.
“You soulless capitalist, I hope your company goes bankrupt tomorrow!”
“Trash company that exploits its employees. Already reported you to the Department of Labor!”
My head of PR, his eyes shadowed with dark circles, handed me an emergency response plan.
His voice was hoarse. “Arthur, we have to issue a statement. Right now. We need to draft an official release and lay out all the facts.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, the headache throbbing behind my eyes. I looked at him.
“If we issue a statement now, the internet won’t see it as a calm explanation. They’ll see it as a guilty-conscience defense and a way of flaunting wealth. It will only pour gasoline on the fire.”
My PR manager stared, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.
When a flood of emotion drowns out all reason, facts don’t stand a chance.
I was wrong.
I thought if I treated people with sincerity, some would choose to believe in the truth.
But as I refreshed the trending video, a new anonymous comment, buoyed by thousands of likes, shot to the top.
The familiar tone made me almost certain it also came from within my company.
“Stop defending them. I work here. The so-called ‘paid leave’ is a scam—they make you use your own precious vacation days! If you refuse, your manager makes your life hell. We’re all just too scared to speak up!”
I stared at that comment, a buzzing sound filling my ears.
It wasn't anger anymore. It was a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. A feeling of profound disgust.
I could practically picture the person typing those words—maybe even one of the old-timers who had thanked me just last week.
That single comment was the final stone that crushed the last vestiges of hope within me. It twisted the company’s one act of genuine kindness into a malicious conspiracy.
Below it, countless others claiming to be “internal employees” chimed in with their agreement.
My mind flashed back to the early days, when we celebrated our first profitable quarter at a cheap barbecue joint. Everyone’s smile was genuine then.
I knew, in my heart, that I had never short-changed any of the people who had fought alongside me.
And in the end, this was my reward: a stab in the back from all sides.
They comfortably enjoyed my generosity, yet for the vague promise of a cash payout, they didn't hesitate to drive a knife into me.
All this time, the respectable, caring company culture I had worked so hard to build was nothing more than a self-congratulatory joke.
The PR manager was still anxiously prodding me. “Arthur, if we don’t say something, our partners and investors are going to start calling!”
I waved a tired hand, pushing his proposal aside.
“It’s not necessary.”
My voice was terrifyingly calm.
“Prepare a new announcement.”
I rose from my chair and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window.
Down below, several news vans were already parked, vultures waiting for the kill.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
I hadn’t lost to Zoe. I had lost to my own foolish trust.
From this day forward, I, Arthur Shaw, am just a businessman.
And businessmen talk profit, not feelings.
I picked up my phone and buzzed my assistant.
“Notify all employees. There will be an all-hands meeting tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. sharp in the main conference room. The agenda is the final optimization of this year’s team-building plan.”
On the other end, my assistant’s voice was hesitant. “Arthur… are you going to… give in to them?”
“No.”
I looked down at the media circling below, my voice hard as steel. “It’s time they paid for their own greed.”

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