Hybrid,  Issue 37

People Are our Greatest Asset


by Leanna Petronella

art by Jen Julian



Éd-téch stárt-úp. Two spondees in a row.

“We need the right people in the right roles,” they say whenever they fire someone.

The thought leader stuffs keywords into a cold-brew keg. The angel investor is already there, incubating the unicorn. See its tiny horn, pink and clear like a jellybean.

I write content in the company’s brand voice. Day after day, I climb inside the copy to join the other writers. We ideate and streamline, tweak to evergreen. Then we merge into persona: informative yet fun. Expert, not elite. Like your favorite high school teacher, but not creepy.

We make the company’s product and therefore their money. Content is king!

A man drives a child-sized fire engine around the office. It is so scrappy, an act in careful flipflops. He reaches optimal conversion, over and over.

Some blonde lady joins the company. She does a re-org. (I like that word, its deep frogginess.) We ask if our jobs are safe. Yes yes, the veeps assure us. They send us tote bags and gift cards and break into song about the company’s core values.

Help people grit. Pursue others. Challenge trust. When you seek to synthesize a teammate, be authentic.

Craig is the CEO. A few months after I start, I have a book launch for my first book of poetry. Craig brings most of the office and buys five copies. I sign each book to “Bird” per his request, which is the name he and his pregnant wife are calling their unborn child.

to Bírd to Bírd to Bírd to Bírd to Bírd

The company arranges random walks between employees, an activity they call a “pastry.” When I have one with Craig, he describes the books he is reading and asks me about my writing. After I say that my sister is a therapist, he talks about how therapy has changed his life. Everyone should do it, he says.

The pastry makes me all warm and buttery. I feed this feeling to others, cheerleading the fluffiness.

For over four years, I work there. Then, one morning, a surprise Zoom call. Several women, our managers, HR, and Craig. Craig looks unhappy. Who died, I wonder.

No one died. I am so un-agile, I did not see this coming. Craig lays us off, all together (like cattle in a slaughter, I say to whomever will listen). It takes ten minutes. He cries. As he speaks, someone in HR turns off our access to Slack, email, all the platforms.

I miss Slack. We used to joke about Slack’s icon, how it looked like four ducks sniffing each other’s butts. Blue sniffs green sniffs yellow sniffs red.

I feel as small as a butt-sniffing duck. I guess I’d been a good time, feted with free t-shirts and lunches. Craig, you kept me happy and stupid until my use was wrung out. Was I a good value proposition? You have an ask: Don’t disclose this hard stop. So I hush and take more of your money.

After the slaughter, I have to meet with HR. The blonde veep tells me, “My network is always available to you,” whatever that means. This is her first time ever speaking to me. When she introduced herself to the company a few months ago, her fun facts were: She attends church twice a weekend. Every summer she goes to the same work retreat, “but it isn’t a cult, not really.”

Not really. I wonder about her customer journey.

We are the minimum viable products! We are the MVPs, accepting severance and cobras! Too bad our salaries were such a disruptor. But Craig needed a win. Perhaps some nonfungible crypto? Or is it cryptic fungi? Because he is a fun guy. He has to be. It’s his best imaginary currency.

Notice when I said it was all women laid off? One of them was pregnant, another was on maternity leave, two were women of color. I guess they won’t need the nursing room you offered or the parental leave you extolled. No deliverables here! You believe in women in business – just not yours.

So, we search every engine. Our leads go unnurtured. We pivot again and again, but our pain points lack equity. The product evangelists damn us, our exit is their strategy, and there is no synergy here, only flywheel. A rack for us insects, gone to market.

Craig, I thought you were my friend.

And yés, I knów how that sóunds.

Is it scalable? Can we iterate? Shall we scrum?




Leanna Petronella’s debut poetry collection, The Imaginary Age, won the 2018 Pleiades Press Editors Prize. Her poetry appears widely in publications such as Beloit Poetry Journal, Third Coast, Birmingham Poetry Review, CutBank, and Quarterly West. Her nonfiction appears in Brevity, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Fugue, and other publications.
She holds a PhD in English and Creative Writing from the University of Missouri and an MFA from the Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas. She lives in Austin, Texas. Read more at leannapetronella.com.


Jen Julian is a writer and illustrator from Eastern North Carolina. She holds a PhD in English from the University of Missouri and an MFA in Fiction from UNC Greensboro. She is the author of two books: Earthly Delights and Other Apocalypses (Press 53, 2018),and her debut novel, Red Rabbit Ghost, (upcoming through Orbit/Redhook, 2025). She teaches creative writing at Young Harris College in Georgia.