Dear Chattery

In a glass-walled office perched on the 12th floor, sunlight reflected off the chrome embellishments of a desk where sat Mr. Davidson, a man known for his executive calm and deliberative speech. Across from him, in a chair that seemed to draw tighter around her with each passing second, was Emma, an employee whose work was as meticulous as it was enigmatic.

“Emma,” Mr. Davidson began, his voice betraying none of the gravity of the situation, “you’re aware that open communication is one of our core tenets here. It’s with that spirit I’d like to discuss some concerns that have surfaced regarding your interpersonal effectiveness.”

Emma’s eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise, but she nodded, her face the very model of professional attentiveness.

He continued, clearing his throat subtly, “The feedback I’ve received notes that you appear rather unapproachable. In addition, some have expressed feeling a bit daunted in your presence, and there’s been mention of a certain… unavailability.”

Emma sat perfectly still, her hands folded neatly in her lap, listening.

“The list is comprehensive,” Mr. Davidson admitted, and began reading off the paper. “You’ve been characterized as distant, chilly, cold, icy, frosty, cool, and brisk. Others have mentioned you can be uncommunicative, taciturn, silent, mute, voiceless, and wordless. In meetings, it seems you come across as reserved, withdrawn, reticent, guarded, and close-mouthed.”

Emma’s face remained impassive, her gaze never wavering from Mr. Davidson’s.

He took a deep breath, continuing, “Colleagues have also noted you seem detached, aloof, standoffish, unsociable, unforthcoming, uninvolved, and unconnected. There’s been talk of you being indifferent, dispassionate, impassive, unfeeling, unsympathetic, and disinterested.”

The sunlight in the room seemed to dim, as if hiding from the relentless barrage of descriptors.

“And we mustn’t overlook being seen as remote, isolated, solitary, insular, secluded, sequestered, and, for lack of a better term, marooned in your own sphere during collaborative projects,” Mr. Davidson added, finally setting the paper down.

He looked at Emma, expecting some sort of defensive retort or perhaps a sigh of resignation. Instead, Emma leaned forward slightly, her expression one of earnest curiosity rather than any hint of offense.

“May I ask who provided this feedback?” Emma inquired, her voice steady.

Mr. Davidson hesitated, his professionalism preventing him from disclosing the source. “I’m afraid I can’t say. It’s the content we need to focus on, not the—”

Emma raised a hand, “Was it Terry?” she interrupted, a slight upward tilt to her lips suggesting the beginning of a knowing smile.

The question seemed to catch Mr. Davidson off guard. “I… well, yes, it was Terry who brought it forward, but—”

“So, Terry’s the one who’s been… exhaustive in his descriptors,” Emma said with a nod. “That explains the verbosity. I assume you’re aware that we’ve taken to calling him Thesaurus Terry?”

It was Mr. Davidson’s turn to be surprised. “Thesaurus Terry?” he repeated, the sternness in his face softening.

“Yes, he’s rather famous for his… elaborate vocabulary around the office,” Emma said, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement.

A chuckle escaped Mr. Davidson, breaking the formality that had cocooned the conversation. “Well, that does put a different spin on the feedback.”

“It does,” Emma agreed, standing with a grace that suggested she was untroubled by the ordeal. “I’ll endeavor to adjust my engagement level with the team. Perhaps a touch more warmth is in order.”

Mr. Davidson nodded, his own demeanor lightened by the revelation. “Yes, a touch more warmth might just bridge the gap. But let’s leave some of those… um, synonyms to Terry, shall we?”

As Emma exited the office, the atmosphere felt decidedly less chilly than the list of adjectives had suggested. Maybe it was the shared chuckle or the absurdity of the situation, but the office’s 12th-floor suddenly seemed a less daunting place to work, even for Thesaurus Terry.