Member-only story
Why Casually Eating Entire Cloves of Garlic During Meetings Earned Me a Fearsome Reputation
The meeting was supposed to last thirty minutes. In corporate time, that usually meant forty-five β but not today. Today, it would end precisely when I decided it should.
The room, virtual yet suffocatingly tense, buzzed with polite monotony as Jim from accounting fumbled through his operational budget slides. I leaned into the camera, slow and deliberate, and peeled the first clove of garlic. The sound β that satisfying snap β cut through the droning like a blade. I bit into it, my eyes fixed on Jimβs square. He stammered, voice faltering, and the room fell silent. The taste burned, but I didnβt flinch. I chewed, slow and methodical.
By the time Susan began her pitch on team synergy, I was on my eighth clove. Her voice quivered as she attempted to ignore the audible crunching. The others sat frozen, their faces taut with an unsettling mix of disgust and fear. The garlic wasnβt just food β it was a weapon, an unspoken threat. The smell invaded the airwaves, saturating the atmosphere with an acidic, primal tension.
βDave, do you have anything to add?β Brenda from HR finally spoke, her tone attempting authority but cracking under the weight of her nerves.
