Chapter 1: The Work Environment

When I entered the office one day, I stumbled upon a couple of my colleagues indulging in cocaine on the conference room table. I couldn't help but question whether I was the only one in the office abstaining from drugs. Another coworker frequently sounded congested, prompting a client to ask, "Are you feeling alright? You've had a cold for quite some time." The sound of her phlegm was evident as she laughed.

However, it wasn’t merely the sniffles that created issues; substance abuse led to numerous inappropriate behaviors that impacted our workplace dynamics. On another occasion, the same coworker called me in a panic early in the morning.

"Pablo, I'm in trouble," she said breathlessly.

"What’s going on?" I asked.

"I messed up. Maggie and I were at this older guy's place. He had cocaine. We’ve been there all night, and it was awkward. I'm heading out now, but I’m still high. Should I come into work?"

"No way," I cautioned. "You can't show up like this. You’re not thinking clearly."

"I just called in sick last week, and if I do it again, they'll recognize my voice."

"Trust me, if you come in like this, you’ll lose your job."

About half an hour later, she appeared at my desk, attempting to speak quietly, "Should I tell Jacob what happened?" Jacob was our department head at the PR agency in New York.

"Are you out of your mind?" I replied, also failing to whisper. "You need to leave—right now."

She nodded and walked directly into Jacob's office, which had a glass wall and a view of 6th Avenue. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I could see her sitting in front of his desk, her head in her hands, shaking as she sobbed. A short while later, she returned.

"What did he say?" I inquired.

"I told him everything," she replied.

"And that means he knows you’re high right now?"

"Yes."

"What was his response?"

"He told me to go home, rest, and come back tomorrow."

Rumors circulated that they were involved romantically. Jacob was a married man with children, while my coworker was a 23-year-old still grappling with her father's recent death. I never confirmed the rumors, but with so many swirling around the office about the senior staff, it became increasingly hard to believe they were all unfounded.

The office culture was chaotic, to say the least. One time, a VP got locked out of her office and, rather than waiting for a locksmith, climbed onto a desk in the adjacent office, broke through the ceiling tiles, crawled through the ventilation, and then crashed down onto her desk with debris raining down. I wasn’t there for it, but I later saw the video online—someone had recorded it and uploaded it to YouTube.

While the outrageous behavior and substance use added to the chaos, the real issues stemmed from the oppressive work environment. We dealt with long hours, unrealistic expectations, and demanding clients, all while earning meager salaries in one of the priciest cities in the world.

Despite living in cramped, roach-infested apartments, we enjoyed perks like attending high-profile events, feasting on leftover Chinese takeout, and celebrating with free champagne.

The allure of luxury kept many of us tethered, but the true reason we stayed was the bond we formed with one another. To this day, some of my closest friends from my New York days are those I met at that job.

We were like soldiers in a war; regardless of our feelings about the cause, we fought for each other. Surviving the chaos became a point of pride. Each week, someone was let go, and I often witnessed colleagues in tears as security escorted them out, packing their belongings into cardboard boxes.

This became so common that we dubbed it "Fired Fridays." The management caught wind of this, prompting them to start firing employees at the beginning of the week instead, which we cheekily renamed "Massacre Mondays."

As a man, I didn’t bear the full brunt of the situation. My female colleagues faced not only the challenges of a leadership team predominantly made up of middle-aged men who often made inappropriate comments but also dealt with male clients who crossed lines.

One friend confided in us about a client who had previously commented on her appearance and had asked her to meet him at his hotel. We were furious and urged her to report it to management or HR, but she chose to confide in us instead, seeking support rather than confrontation. I often wondered if my female friends were shielding us from the worst of their experiences.

Initially, there was no HR department; issues were handled by the CEO's assistant, who was among those I caught using drugs in the conference room. Eventually, the agency hired an HR director, but she didn’t last long after a confrontation with the CEO that resulted in her being fired after he hurled insults at her. We had no recourse.

After I resigned, the Department of Labor sent an investigator to our office to look into possible labor violations. I wasn’t shocked, but I often pondered why so many of us endured the toxic environment for so long and how, despite its notorious reputation, the agency continually attracted new talent.

“There will always be a recent college graduate from Ohio looking for a job,” a friend once remarked.

Looking back, there were warning signs from the very beginning. My interview started off on a chaotic note; the conference room was occupied due to a scheduling error, and my interviewer led me to her cubicle instead. She was restless and distracted, frequently taking phone calls, one of which was urgent enough to pull her away, leaving me alone for a few minutes. During that time, I noticed a woman exiting the restroom, visibly upset.

Nevertheless, I needed a job and had limited experience. When the last interviewer, the general manager, asked when I could start, I impulsively replied, "Right now."

"You start on Monday," he said. "Be here by 8:30."

At the time, I thought he was doing me a favor; now I realize it was a different story altogether. The CEO had a reputation for berating employees and pursuing legal action against anyone who displeased him—vendors, competitors, and former employees included.

There were wild stories about him, some of which made it to industry gossip columns, but I didn’t have much direct contact with him. I occasionally overheard him cursing at someone while he sped past my cubicle on his BlackBerry.

Once, he summoned me to his office with a chilling email. Subject line: "Please come in." No additional context—just a foreboding message.

As I made my way to his office, I started mentally preparing for the inevitable layoff. Unable to withstand the anxiety, I blurted out, "If you're going to fire me, just do it. We don’t need to prolong this."

He frowned, then smiled, stood up, and approached me. To my surprise, he handed me a check for $2,000—equivalent to two months' rent at the time—a spot bonus.

"Good job," he said.

"Thank you," I replied, bewildered.

I returned to my desk with no clue as to what I had done to deserve such a reward.

Chapter 2: The Aftermath of Leaving

As the chaos in the office continued, I wondered about the systemic issues that allowed such a toxic environment to thrive.

The first video titled "Exploitation and Enforcement Part II: Improving Enforcement in Countering Uyghur Forced Labor" delves into the need for effective policies to combat exploitation in the workplace, echoing the experiences many face in toxic environments.

As I reflected on my time at the agency, the experiences I had there led me to think about the importance of mental health and the necessity of addressing workplace toxicity.

The second video titled "Staffing increases at Department of Labor aimed at getting more Missouri unemployment claims processed" highlights the changes being made to improve labor conditions, reminding us of the importance of accountability in the workplace.