The world of remote work has created a new set of social challenges. In the wild west of video calls, the art of conversation has been replaced by a chaotic battle of who can unmute the fastest. Being constantly interrupted and talked over can be infuriating. One reader, pushed to her wits’ end by her chronically verbose colleagues, decided she needed a silent partner to help her hold the floor—a partner who was scaly, slithery, and impossible to ignore.
For months, every team Zoom meeting has been a nightmare. I have two coworkers, Greg and Brenda, who treat every conversation like a verbal wrestling match they have to win. I’d try to present an idea, and they would interrupt me mid-sentence. I talked to my manager, but nothing changed. So, for our big quarterly presentation, I enlisted a new assistant to help me command the room. His name is Noodles, and he is my three-foot-long ball python.
The Art of the Interruption
I’m one of the quieter people on my team, but I’m good at my job. The problem is, my ideas are often credited to Greg, because he’s the loudest. I’ll start to explain a concept, and he’ll cut me off with, “So, what Clara is trying to say is…” and then just repeat my idea in his own booming voice. Brenda is just as bad, constantly interjecting with unrelated questions while I’m in the middle of a sentence. It’s been maddening, and it’s been affecting my work.
I tried everything. I tried raising my physical hand. I tried using the “raise hand” emoji. I tried talking louder. I tried asking my manager, Sarah, to moderate more strictly. She’d say, “Okay, Greg, let’s let Clara finish,” but he’d just jump back in two seconds later. I knew I had to do something drastic for the big quarterly review meeting.
Bring Your Pet to Work Day
This meeting was a big one, with our whole department and the division head. I was responsible for presenting the data analysis, a project I had led for the past three months. I knew I wouldn’t get through my first slide without Greg interrupting.
So, just before my turn to present, I put my plan into action. I calmly walked over to the terrarium in my living room, opened it, and gently lifted out Noodles, my sweet, placid ball python. I draped him around my neck and shoulders like a very bold, living scarf. His little head rested on my collarbone as he flicked his tongue, tasting the air. I adjusted my webcam and waited.
“Okay, great work on that, Tim,” my manager said. “Clara, you’re up next with the data analysis.”
I unmuted myself. “Thank you, Sarah,” I said, as my face filled the main screen.
A Captivated Audience
The effect was instantaneous and glorious. A wave of stunned silence washed over the Zoom call. I could see my coworkers’ eyes widen in their little boxes. Greg, who had clearly been leaning forward to cut in with a “thought starter,” froze with his mouth agape. Brenda, who had been multitasking, was now staring at her screen, visibly recoiling.
I began my presentation. I went through slide one. Silence. I explained a complex data point on slide two. Not a peep. I presented my conclusions on slide three. The only sound was my own voice. Noodles occasionally shifted his weight, his scales catching the light from my monitor. My audience was completely, utterly captivated. For ten solid minutes, I had the entire, uninterrupted attention of my team for the first time in my career.
I finished my last slide. “And that concludes my analysis,” I said cheerfully. “Are there any questions?”
More dead silence. Finally, the department head unmuted himself. His voice was a little shaky. “Uh… no, Clara. No questions from me. That was… crystal clear. Excellent work.”
After the meeting, my manager sent me a private message on Slack. It just said: “Clara… was that a real snake?” I replied: “Yes. His name is Noodles. He helps me focus.” Her response was a single crying-laughing emoji, followed by: “Message received. I will do a better job of moderating. Maybe leave Noodles in his office for the next one.”
The ‘snake meeting’ is now the stuff of office legend. Greg and Brenda have been miraculously respectful, and I’m finally able to get a word in edgewise. My work friends think it was the single greatest power move in the history of our company. My mother, however, is horrified and says I was unprofessional and could have given a colleague a heart attack. AITA for using my pet snake to enforce basic meeting etiquette?
In the digital jungle of remote work, sometimes you need to bring in a bigger predator. The narrator, after trying every professional and polite avenue, found a solution that was as absurd as it was effective. She didn’t yell, she didn’t complain; she simply introduced an element of fear and fascination that was so bizarre, it shocked her interrupters into silence. It was a masterclass in non-verbal communication and a slithery, scaly victory for anyone who has ever been talked over on a video call.
What do you think, readers? Was this a stroke of genius from a desperate employee, or an unprofessional and reckless stunt that could have backfired terribly? Let us know!
0 COMMENTS