Someone on Reddit sparked an interesting discussion the other day about their manager’s Jekyll-and-Hyde routine during Teams meetings. Camera on? All smiles, warmth, and “how’s your day been, guys?” Camera off? Stone cold silence, even when sitting right next to them in the office. The original poster seemed genuinely baffled by this behaviour, wondering if they were dealing with some kind of corporate narcissist.

Reading through the thread, I found myself nodding along with most of the responses. This isn’t narcissism – it’s just the exhausting reality of modern professional life, particularly for introverts who’ve climbed into management roles.

There’s something quietly devastating about watching someone leave a workplace after 15 years with nothing more than a perfunctory goodbye. Recently, I came across a discussion from someone who’d just witnessed exactly that – a colleague retiring after a decade and a half of service, and not a single morning tea or farewell gift materialised. Just… nothing.

It got me thinking about who actually does this work in our offices, and more importantly, why it so often doesn’t happen at all.

I’ve been reflecting on a story I came across recently about someone’s career rollercoaster over the past couple of years, and it really struck a chord with me. This person went from law to management consulting, got made redundant when the industry tanked, spent six months unemployed, took a massive pay cut to get back in the door, then worked themselves to the bone for nine months before finally landing a promotion that nearly doubled their previous salary.

Been scrolling through some workplace discussions lately and stumbled across something that really struck a nerve. Someone was asking about knowledge hoarding at work - you know, those colleagues who seem friendly enough on the surface but somehow never quite share the information you need to actually do your job. The responses that followed painted a picture that’s unfortunately all too familiar in the tech world.

The original poster described starting at a new company where there’s a suspicious lack of documentation and sharing. People appear friendly but won’t provide the actual know-how needed to get things done. Sound familiar? If you’ve worked in tech for more than five minutes, you’ve probably encountered this phenomenon.

I’ve been mulling over a discussion I stumbled across recently about workplace flexibility and whether certain groups get preferential treatment. It’s one of those topics that really gets under my skin because it touches on something fundamental about fairness in the workplace – and frankly, it’s a conversation that’s long overdue.

The situation described was painfully familiar: a company with a rigid five-day office mandate that offers “exemptions” for flexible work arrangements. But here’s the kicker – those exemptions seem to follow an unwritten hierarchy. Parents? Approved without question. Pet owners? Not a chance. Someone wanting flexible hours to pursue a master’s degree? “Can you postpone your plans?”

There’s something oddly fascinating about the psychological warfare that plays out in those few minutes before a scheduled Teams meeting. You know the scenario: it’s 9:25am, you’re wrapping up something else, and suddenly that little notification pops up telling you someone has already started the 9:30am meeting. What do you do?

I’ve been thinking about this lately after stumbling across a discussion online where people were sharing their meeting joining strategies. The responses revealed something quite telling about how we’ve all adapted to this brave new world of remote work and endless video calls.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what really makes a job worth having. Sure, the pay packet matters – we all have bills to pay and teenagers to feed – but there’s something else that’s been nagging at me: freedom. Not the existential kind, but the day-to-day autonomy we have (or don’t have) in our working lives.

It started with a discussion I stumbled across recently where someone posed a simple question: how “free” are you at work? The responses were fascinating and, frankly, a bit depressing. It got me reflecting on my own journey through the IT world, from junior developer frantically trying to look busy whenever a manager walked by, to now where I can theoretically take a two-hour lunch break without anyone batting an eyelid.

I’ve been following an interesting workplace saga that’s been making the rounds online, and it’s got me thinking about how quickly things can escalate when people mistake the office for their personal social media feed.

The story goes like this: someone posted about a colleague who’d been making increasingly problematic comments at work. The latest update? That colleague got fired on the same day he made a comment rating a female coworker’s appearance as “flat as a board, a 3/10.” No warning, just immediate termination.

Nothing quite captures the beautiful absurdity of modern workplace dynamics like the relationship between IT departments and their users. I’ve been chuckling over a discussion thread about amusing IT requests that reminded me why I sometimes feel grateful to be on the development side of things rather than front-line support.

The catalyst was a boss demanding that IT solve his laptop’s battery drainage problem - without him having to plug it in or shut it down properly. When you first read that, it sounds completely unreasonable. But dig a little deeper into the responses, and you start to see there might actually be more to the story.

The Fair Work Commission’s recent decision to reinstate a worker who was sacked for accidentally sending an email to all staff has got me thinking about just how backwards our workplace priorities have become. The fact that this happened at Bravus (formerly Adani) somehow makes it even more infuriating, but that’s probably a rant for another day.

What really gets under my skin is how we’ve created this culture where a simple human error – something that happens to literally everyone who’s ever worked in an office – can cost someone their livelihood. Meanwhile, the company that couldn’t be bothered to implement basic email security measures gets to act like the victim.

There’s a discussion doing the rounds in corporate circles that’s got me thinking about something we’ve all probably encountered but rarely talk about openly: the high-performing employee who also happens to be a bit of a bigot.

The scenario is frustratingly familiar. You’ve got this junior team member who’s technically brilliant, delivers results, and has the seniors singing their praises. The catch? They regularly drop comments like “girls have no dignity these days” and question why there’s “all the rainbow stuff” at company events. The kicker is that this person belongs to a minority group themselves, which somehow makes the whole situation feel even more complex to navigate.

The future of job hunting has arrived, and it’s about as dystopian as we expected. AI systems are now conducting first-round interviews with candidates, and the response from job seekers has been predictably pragmatic: if you can’t beat the machines, join them.

I’ve been watching this conversation unfold online, and it’s fascinating how quickly people have adapted to this new reality. The arms race between AI-powered hiring systems and AI-assisted job applications is already well underway, with candidates using ChatGPT to tailor their resumes and cover letters to match job descriptions. Some are even embedding white text keywords at the bottom of their resumes – invisible to human eyes but readable by screening algorithms.

I’ve been scratching my head over something that came up in an online discussion recently. Someone mentioned they’d started inviting colleagues for coffee runs at work – you know, the classic “anyone want to grab a coffee?” moment that breaks up the afternoon slump. Simple enough, right? Well, apparently not. It turns out some of their colleagues, particularly those of the opposite gender, were hesitant because they thought it might be perceived as… a date.

Had a conversation with a mate the other day about job hunting, and it reminded me why I’ve developed such a healthy skepticism of recruitment agencies over the years. Someone shared a story online about being dragged into the city for an interview, only to be told upfront that the job had already been filled - but hey, let’s chat anyway so I can “get to know you.” Sound familiar? Unfortunately, it does to me too.

The tech world’s been buzzing this week with Sam Altman’s claim that Meta tried to poach OpenAI staff with signing bonuses as high as $100 million. One hundred million dollars. For a signing bonus. Let that sink in for a moment while I try to reconcile this with the fact that my daughter’s public school is still using textbooks from 2015.

Now, I’ll be honest - part of me wants to roll my eyes at the sheer audacity of it all. We’re talking about amounts of money that could fund entire infrastructure projects, solve homelessness in multiple cities, or revolutionise our education system. Instead, it’s being thrown around like confetti to convince brilliant minds to jump from one tech giant to another. It feels like watching billionaires play an expensive game of musical chairs while the rest of us wonder if we’ll ever afford a house deposit.

Been mulling over something that’s been bugging me for weeks now. It started when I stumbled across a discussion from a frontend developer who’s been wrestling with the same concerns I’ve had about AI tools in our industry. The bloke made some pretty sharp observations about how these tools are being marketed and used, and it really struck a chord.

The crux of his argument was simple but powerful: AI tools are being sold as magic bullets that require no expertise, promising fast results and cost savings. But here’s the kicker - if you don’t have the expertise to properly instruct these tools and evaluate their output, you’re going to get garbage. It’s like handing a Formula 1 car to someone who’s never driven anything more complex than a Toyota Camry and expecting them to win races.

There’s something oddly liberating about reading stories of people who’ve walked away from jobs faster than you can say “probationary period.” Yesterday I stumbled across a discussion thread about the shortest timeframes people have known a job wasn’t for them, and it got me thinking about workplace red flags and the courage it takes to trust your gut.

The original poster had it figured out in just two days. Two days! And honestly, good on them. There’s a refreshing honesty in recognising that early that something isn’t right and having the backbone to act on it. They mentioned not wanting to get “further enmeshed and embedded” with people relying on them before making their exit - which shows more consideration for their colleagues than many employers show their staff.

The tech world is buzzing with discussions about Amazon’s latest approach to software development, where AI tools are transforming coding into what many engineers describe as an assembly line process. Reading through various comments and perspectives online, this shift feels eerily familiar to what happened during the Industrial Revolution.

Working in tech for over two decades, I’ve witnessed the pendulum swing between valuing creativity and prioritizing efficiency. The current push toward AI-assisted coding at major tech companies raises some serious concerns about the future of software development.

The other day, I stumbled across an online discussion about management that really resonated with me. Someone shared their experience of receiving high engagement scores from their team, and their “secret” was refreshingly simple: treat people well and give them autonomy. It brought back memories of my early days in tech leadership, where I encountered both brilliant mentors and, well, absolute dropkicks.

The discussion took a humorous turn when they suggested writing a straightforward management book with a rather colorful Australian title that basically amounted to “don’t be a terrible person.” While the language might have been a bit crude, the sentiment hit the nail on the head.

The corporate world can be a peculiar beast. There I was this morning, settling into my daily routine in my home office in Brunswick, when a story caught my eye that resonated deeply with my own professional experiences. It was about workplace bullying and its eventual comeuppance - a tale as old as time in the corporate sphere.

Reading through the details transported me back to my early days in tech, when toxic workplace behaviour was often swept under the rug. The story was painfully familiar: a talented professional dealing with a colleague who hoarded work, claimed credit for others’ achievements, and created a hostile work environment. The kicker? This bully was drawing a higher salary while contributing less.

Today’s lunchtime discussion in the office turned into an unexpected lesson about workplace behavior and its consequences. The story making rounds involves a thoughtless comment during a casual chat about banh mi that led to an immediate dismissal.

The incident reflects a broader shift in workplace culture that I’ve noticed over my decades in tech. Gone are the days when crude jokes and innuendos were brushed off as “just banter.” Modern workplaces are finally taking decisive action against inappropriate behavior, and rightfully so.

Reading about someone’s experience with department-wide one-on-one meetings scheduled with HR present brought back memories that made my stomach churn. The scenario is painfully familiar to many in the corporate world: the carefully worded email, the mention of a “support person,” and that ominous phrase about “changes to the department.”

Let’s be honest - corporate communication around restructures and redundancies often feels like it’s designed to create maximum anxiety. The moment you see that calendar invite for a one-on-one with both HR and senior management, your mind starts racing. Having been through this dance myself during the tech downturn of the early 2000s, I know exactly how it feels.

The phrase “gentle reminder” landed in my inbox again this morning, triggering a familiar eye roll and a deep sigh. It’s fascinating how these two seemingly innocent words have become corporate code for “mate, you’re seriously testing my patience here.”

Reading through various online discussions about this particular piece of corporate speak, it’s clear I’m not alone in my mild irritation with this passive-aggressive gem. The consensus seems to be that there’s nothing particularly gentle about these reminders - they’re more like a velvet-wrapped sledgehammer.

Reading through some online discussions about workplace fashion disasters has brought back memories of my two decades in IT consulting. The stories range from mildly amusing to absolutely gobsmacking, and they’ve got me thinking about how our understanding of “professional attire” has evolved over the years.

The tech industry has always been more relaxed about dress codes compared to traditional corporate environments. Working from my CBD office, I regularly see suited-up financial types walking past our building while my colleagues and I sport everything from smart casual to what could generously be described as “startup chic.” But even in our relaxed environment, there’s still an unspoken line that shouldn’t be crossed.

The topic of solo lunching has been making rounds in online discussions lately, and it’s fascinating how polarizing this seemingly simple choice can be. Taking lunch breaks alone isn’t just about eating – it’s about creating a vital pause in our increasingly demanding workdays.

Working in tech for over two decades, I’ve experienced both the social butterfly and lone wolf approaches to lunch breaks. These days, you’ll typically find me walking down Exhibition Street, seeking out a quiet spot in one of the lesser-known cafes, or simply finding a peaceful corner in our office building’s rooftop garden.

Reading about a recent workplace incident has my blood boiling. Picture this: a new mother on maternity leave gets pressured by a fresh manager who seems utterly baffled by the concept that employees might occasionally need time away to, you know, have babies and care for them.

The story hit close to home because my own daughter recently started her first job, and I dread thinking about her potentially facing similar situations in her career. The new manager in this tale repeatedly mentioned how “weird” it was to have someone on the books but not physically present. Really? In 2024? Maternity leave has been around longer than email, for crying out loud.

Reading through various workplace stories online today struck a particularly raw nerve. The tech industry can be a breeding ground for toxic workplace cultures, especially in the startup scene where the lines between professional relationships and personal friendships often blur dangerously.

The story that caught my attention involved a software professional who escaped a particularly toxic startup environment. Their experience resonated deeply with what I’ve witnessed throughout my two decades in tech. The familiar pattern of favouritism, where certain employees enjoy special privileges simply because they’re drinking buddies with management, is unfortunately all too common.

The recent hack of the US Treasury Department has sparked quite a discussion in tech circles, and it’s hitting close to home for those of us who’ve spent time in government IT. Reading through the online commentary, there’s a clear pattern emerging about why these incidents keep happening, and it’s not just about technical vulnerabilities.

Working in tech, I’ve witnessed firsthand how government departments often struggle with the same fundamental issues: inadequate funding, rigid hiring practices, and an institutional resistance to change. The Treasury hack isn’t just a technical failure; it’s a symptom of a broader systemic problem.

Reading through various online discussions about taking time off during the holiday season has sparked some thoughts about our relationship with work in this always-connected digital age. The story of a fast-food manager finally clocking out for the year particularly resonated with me.

Working in tech, I’m perpetually tethered to Slack, emails, and various project management tools. The concept of truly disconnecting feels almost foreign sometimes. Just yesterday, while enjoying my morning batch brew at Patricia Coffee on Little Bourke Street, I caught myself habitually checking work messages despite being officially on leave.

Reading through various career discussions online lately has brought up an interesting observation about how we use industry terminology, particularly the term “Big 4.” The phrase gets tossed around so casually in professional circles that we often forget it means different things to different people.

Working in tech, I’ve witnessed countless conversations derail because someone mentioned “Big 4” without context, leading to a comedy of errors where one person talks about bank transfers while another discusses audit schedules. It reminds me of a recent coffee catch-up with former colleagues where we spent a good ten minutes talking at cross-purposes before realizing we were discussing entirely different companies.

Recently, I stumbled upon an online discussion that perfectly captures one of those universal workplace fears - the dreaded bathroom incident. Reading through the comments about someone’s unfortunate encounter in their office bathroom brought back memories of similar awkward moments in various corporate buildings around Collins Street.

Let’s be honest - bathroom etiquette in corporate settings is a minefield of unwritten rules and social anxieties. The modern office bathroom, with its fancy door locks and private rooms, somehow manages to be both more sophisticated and more prone to embarrassing mishaps than the old-school cubicle setup.

The iconic pub lunch - it’s practically woven into the fabric of corporate culture here in Melbourne. Recently, a discussion caught my eye about someone wrestling with whether to order an expensive steak at a team lunch, and it sparked some interesting thoughts about workplace dynamics and social expectations.

Picture this: you’re sitting at a restaurant with your colleagues, scanning the menu, and there it is - that perfectly marbled, premium cut that’s calling your name. But it’s nearly triple the price of what others might order. The eternal question emerges: will you be “that person”?

Reading through discussions about career pathways lately has been both enlightening and frustrating. The traditional narrative of “get a degree or stay stuck” is finally starting to crack, and it’s about time.

Sitting here in my home office, sipping my Market Lane coffee, I’ve been reflecting on the fascinating stories of career transitions I’ve been reading. What’s particularly striking is how many successful professionals started their journeys in hospitality. These stories hit close to home - my local café’s manager recently made a similar leap into corporate procurement, doubling her salary in the process.

The other day, while waiting for my coffee to brew at work, I witnessed something that made me do a double-take. My colleague’s manager was methodically printing out every single email from their inbox. Not just the important ones - every single one. The printer hummed away like it was 1999, churning out paper after paper of digital communications that were perfectly accessible on their computer screen.

This scenario, shared recently in an online discussion, struck a chord with me. The environmental impact alone is staggering. Running some quick calculations during my lunch break, I figured that printing just 30 emails a day amounts to over 7,500 sheets of paper annually. That’s roughly one whole tree every year, not to mention the energy consumption and toner waste.

As I sat in my favourite café in Melbourne’s CBD, sipping on a flat white and reading about the latest workplace incidents on Reddit, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu. The stories were all too familiar – employees being taken advantage of, working long hours without compensation, and being disrespected by their managers. It’s a toxic workplace culture that’s becoming all too common, and it’s no wonder that people are reaching their breaking point.

I was dismayed to hear that some companies are asking their staff to pay for their own Christmas party. Yes, you read that right – the company that made a whopping $500 million in the last financial year is expecting its employees to chip in for the festivities. I’m not sure what’s more astonishing, the fact that they’re making such a brazen request or that some people seem to think this is normal.