The Thanksgiving Bonus
What the internet didn't know is that my company's unbreakable tradition, for every major holiday and employee birthday, is a no-strings-attached $500 cash bonus.
As the entire internet dogpiled on me, I decided to give them what they wanted. I sent out a company-wide memo: "To better honor the traditional spirit of the holiday, the Thanksgiving cash bonus will be canceled this year. Instead, all employees will receive a complimentary frozen turkey."
The office erupted. My team mobbed my doorway, begging me to bring the bonus back.
1
Thanksgiving was just around the corner, and a festive mood was settling over the office. I had my assistant bring me the stack of bonus envelopes, each containing a crisp $500 bill. It was a tradition I started the day my company became profitable. For every holiday, and on their birthday, every single employee got five hundred bucks. No gift cards with annoying restrictions, just cash.
Ava, a new intern from the marketing department, peeked her head over her cubicle wall. She glanced at the envelopes in my assistants hands, then wrinkled her nose.
"Wait, we don't even get a company turkey? For a company this successful?"
Her voice was pitched just rightloud enough for the whole open-plan office to hear, but soft enough to sound like an innocent question.
Beside her, Sarah, a veteran designer, gently tugged her sleeve. "Ava, the bonus is five hundred dollars cash," she whispered. "It's way better than a turkey. You're new, you probably didn't know."
Another colleague chimed in from across the room. "Yeah, last year I used my bonus to fly home and surprise my parents. Best perk ever."
"Oh, really?" Ava said, drawing out the words with a sarcastic lilt. "A bonus is a bonus, but a turkey is about the holiday spirit. I mean, whats the point of having great benefits if the company has no soul?"
Sarah and the other colleague exchanged an awkward look and went back to their work.
Later that afternoon, there was a knock on my office door. It was Ava, holding a file. "Kate, got a minute? I wanted to talk about improving our corporate culture."
I nodded. She stepped in, closing the door behind her, a practiced smile on her face.
"So, I was thinking," she began, "as an industry leader, we could really set an example with our company culture. For Thanksgiving, the cash is great, but it feels a little impersonal. If we also gave every employee a turkey, it would show a much deeper level of personal care."
I looked at her, a little amused. "Our tradition is to give employees the freedom to choose. With five hundred dollars, you can buy a dozen organic, free-range turkeys if you want. Or you can use it to pay a bill. That seems more humane than forcing a turkey on a vegetarian employee or someone who's flying out of state for the holiday."
Ava's smile froze on her face. "Well, that's not what I meant. It's about doing both. The emotional and the material."
"And I believe," I cut her off, "that the greatest respect you can show an employee is putting real money in their hand and trusting them to know what's best for them."
She stood there for a second, then mumbled, "It was just a suggestion," and quickly walked out.
I didn't think much of it. Just another ambitious kid trying to make a mark. My company had a tough start-up phase, and I always felt I owed my founding team a debt of gratitude. Thats why I made our benefits the best in the industryto create a place where people could work with dignity. I never imagined that philosophy would be used against me.
Just before five, I saw Mike, a senior sales guy, wander over to Avas desk. They were whispering.
"So? What did the queen decree?" Mike asked.
Ava scoffed. "Total dinosaur. Lectured me about 'respecting employees' choices'."
Mikes eyes darted around. "Told you she was cheap," he muttered. "Look, I'm with you, Ava. It's about the principle of the thing. The gesture. You're doing the right thing."
Ava's chin lifted. "Don't worry, Mike. I've got this."
I watched as Ava pulled out her phone. She took a few panning shots of the office, then flipped the camera to selfie mode. Her expression instantly crumpled into a mask of teary-eyed victimhood. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear the words.
A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach.
That night, my phone buzzed with a notification for a trending local TikTok. The title was, "Gen Z intern tries to reason with Scrooge CEO who won't even buy Thanksgiving turkeys for her staff."
The thumbnail was Ava's perfectly crafted, tear-streaked face.
2
I opened the app. The video started with a shot of my closed office door. The text overlay read: "Mustering the courage to fight for my coworkers."
It cut to a close-up of Ava at her desk, dabbing her eyes. Text: "Was told I was ungrateful for even asking." My voice, from our meeting, had been distorted and edited to sound condescending and cold, while her questions were reasonable and soft.
The video ended with her whispering to the camera, her voice choked with emotion. "I don't want a bonus. I just wanted a turkey, to feel like we're a family here. Is that too much to ask?"
The comment section was a dumpster fire.
What kind of monster company is this? Can't even afford a damn turkey?
OMG girl, don't cry! Drop the company name, we'll review-bomb them into oblivion!
This is why Gen Z needs to keep 'quiet quitting'. These boomer bosses are out of touch!
I almost laughed. Five hundred dollars in cash had somehow become "I don't want a bonus."
The next morning, Ava and Mike walked into my office together. Mike had a pained look on his face, trying to play the mediator.
"Kate, look, Ava's heart was in the right place. We all want the company to have a strong, positive culture. Everyone's talking about it now. Maybe you could just give them what they want?"
Ava stood beside him, arms crossed, radiating smug confidence. She held up her phone. "Kate, it's not just me asking anymore. It's everyone."
"The company policy," I said evenly, "is not going to be changed by a temper tantrum."
Ava laughed. "The bonus is compensation. The turkey is culture. They're two different things. If you can't see the difference, the internet will be happy to explain it to you."
The threat was clear. "The video only has a few hundred thousand views right now," she added. "I can't promise it'll stay that way if you don't do something."
Just then, my assistant burst in, looking panicked. "Kate, the video is on the national news! The hashtag #TurkeyGate is trending!"
I refreshed my phone. She was right. But what made my blood run cold was when I scrolled through the list of people who had 'liked' the original TikTok. A familiar profile picture caught my eye. It was from Mark, a senior engineer whose father I'd approved a 0-00,000 medical emergency grant for just last month. I'd personally visited his dad in the hospital.
And now, he had quietly 'liked' Ava's video.
Ava saw the look on my face and her smile widened. She tilted her phone screen toward me, showing me the rapidly climbing view count. "So, Kate. Still think it's just me?"
The office intercom buzzed. It was the receptionist. "Kate, the phone lines are flooded with angry calls. And a few of our clients are calling, asking if we're in the middle of some kind of PR crisis."
A full-blown media storm, manufactured by an intern over a frozen bird. I looked at Ava's triumphant face and Mike's fake concern, and suddenly, I just felt tired. You give people an inch, and they'll try to take a universe.
I had given them too much. I had made them forget their place.
3
Overnight, my company became infamous. Our name, my faceit was all over the internet. My inbox was a toxic wasteland of hate mail. People called me a corporate ghoul, a vampire, hoping my business would fail.
My Head of PR, looking like he hadn't slept in a week, handed me a crisis management plan. "Kate, we have to issue a statement immediately. Explain the $500 cash bonus, show the transfer records from past years. We can turn this around."
I rubbed my temples. That had been my first instinct, too. But I asked him, "Right now, would a statement look like a clarification, or a guilty confession?"
He didn't have an answer.
I thought the truth would be enough. I was wrong. As I scrolled through the comments on Avas viral video, a new anonymous comment had been pinned to the top. The profile was blank.
Stop trying to defend her. I work at this company. What $500 bonus? I've never seen it. All we want is a little holiday warmth. Is that so hard?
The comment had thousands of likes. Other anonymous "employees" were chiming in below it.
Can confirm. No bonus. The prizes at last year's holiday party were expired products from her husband's failed startup.
The lie was spreading faster than the truth ever could.
I stared at that comment, and something inside me snapped. If Ava lit the match, these anonymous cowards were the ones pouring gasoline on the fire.
I remembered late nights eating cheap pizza in our first tiny office. I remembered closing down restaurants for employee birthday parties. I remembered co-signing a loan for an employee whose house was in foreclosure.
I had treated them like family. And in return, they were stabbing me in the back while hiding behind anonymous profiles. The "family atmosphere" I was so proud of was a pathetic, one-sided joke.
My PR head was getting frantic. "Kate, if we don't say something now, we lose control of the narrative completely."
"Don't worry," I said, my voice eerily calm as I pushed his plan aside. "We're not going to say anything."
My assistant looked at me, horrified. "Kate, are you sure? What if"
"Do it," I cut her off.
I stood and walked to my floor-to-ceiling window. News vans were already parked on the street below. I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. I wasn't losing to Ava. I was losing to my own naive belief in goodwill.
From this day on, Kate Reilly was done being a den mother. It was time to be a boss.
I buzzed my assistant. "Send a calendar invite to all staff. Mandatory all-hands meeting, tomorrow, 9 AM sharp. The agenda is the final decision on the Thanksgiving benefits package."
Her voice was hesitant. "Kate are we giving in?"
"No," I said, watching the media vultures circle below. "It's a tribunal."
4
The next morning, the main conference room was packed. For the first time in company history, everyone was early. The air buzzed with suppressed excitement. Ava and Mike sat in the front row like conquering heroes, surrounded by admirers.
"I told you guys," Mike was saying loudly, "Kate's tough, but she's not stupid. When we all stand together, she has to listen!"
Ava was live-streaming on her phone, a triumphant grin on her face. The stream title read: Justice is coming! Watch us win against corporate greed!
At nine o'clock, I walked in. A hush fell over the room. All eyes were on me. I walked to the podium and, without a word, connected my phone to the main projector.
First, I faced the crowd and gave a deep, formal bow.
"I'm sorry," I said.
The room exploded in whispers. Ava's live stream chat went wild with comments like [SHE APOLOGIZED!] [GEN Z WINS AGAIN!].
I straightened up. "I'm sorry that my focus on practical benefits made me overlook the importance of tradition to many of you. And I am sorry that my handling of this situation has brought negative attention to our company."
A smattering of applause started, which grew into a wave. Mike even shouted, "It's okay, Kate! We all make mistakes!"
Ava aimed her camera right at my face, capturing her prize.
I let the applause die down, then my tone shifted. "In light of this, and to show the utmost respect for our shared cultural traditions, I have decided to make a significant revision to our holiday benefits package this year."
You could feel the collective intake of breath. They were expecting boththe bonus and the turkey.
I looked directly at Ava's expectant face. "Effective immediately, we will be discontinuing the company's long-standing cash bonus tradition for all holidays."
Dead silence.
I continued, my voice crisp and clear. "Instead, to fully embrace the spirit of the holiday, each employee will receive one company-issued, nineteen-dollar, store-brand frozen turkey."
"This, I believe, is the ultimate gesture of traditional corporate goodwill."
The silence was so absolute you could hear the hum of the air conditioning. Avas phone clattered to the floor. An employee in the back stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
From a five-hundred-dollar bonus to a nineteen-dollar turkey. The shock was so profound, it left them paralyzed.
And in that deafening silence, my phone, still connected to the projector, lit up. A text message appeared on the giant screen for everyone to see.
It was from Mr. Davies, our largest client.
[Kate, saw the news. My company values integrity and stability in its partners above all else. An organization that allows its employees to publicly slander it is a significant risk. I need a solution by 3 PM today, or my legal team will be in touch to terminate our contract.]
5
That text message hung on the screen like a guillotine.
Mr. Daviess account represented forty percent of our annual revenue. If we lost that contract, half the people in this room would be out of a job by Christmas.
The mood in the room shifted from shock to raw, primal fear.
Avas face was ashen. She was the first to find her voice, a shrill, panicked shriek. "That's not fair! You can't use a client to threaten us! Benefits and business are separate!"
I looked at her, my expression like ice. "You used public opinion to threaten the company's reputation. A client threatening to leave is the direct and predictable consequence of your actions."
My eyes swept across the room, landing on every person who had been cheering her on moments before. "The solution Mr. Davies wants by three o'clock is proof that this company can and will eliminate the internal cultural rot that you represent."
The term "cultural rot" hung in the air. People started physically distancing themselves from Ava.
An engineer from the back of the room stood up, his face red with anger, and pointed a trembling finger at her. "Ava! You did this! We had a great job, great benefits, and you ruined it with your stupid stunt!"
"Yeah! Who the hell wanted a damn turkey? I want my five hundred bucks!" another shouted.
"And you, Mike!" someone else yelled. "You were encouraging her the whole time! You're in on this!"
Mike turned a blotchy shade of purple. "No! I wasn't! She tricked me! I was trying to reason with her!"
This was my moment. "So, we have a choice," I announced to the room. "You can hand over the person responsible for this mess, allowing us to save the company and most of your jobs. Or you can all go down with the ship, protecting the person who sank it."
I let that sink in. "Or perhaps you think after we lose the Davies contract, the next client, and the one after that, won't see our company's trending hashtag and run for the hills?"
"The choice is yours."
I picked up my phone. "I need a full report and a list of names on my desk by 2 PM."
I turned and walked out of the conference room. Behind me, the chaos erupted.
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