Girls, my dear ones, hello! I warmly greet you all! I want to share with you a story — recent, but so vivid that it seems it will stay with me for life.
A story about how sometimes a single act, done calmly and cold-bloodedly, can speak louder than any scandal or shout.
And you guys, don’t just pass by — maybe in this story you’ll recognize someone from your office, your boss or a colleague. Sometimes it’s useful to look at things from the outside, not from the ground level, but from above.
Imagine: the end of December. For most, it’s tangerines, the smell of pine, pre-holiday bustle. But for us accountants, it’s when the real marathon begins — the annual reporting.
Whoever has gone through this at least once will nod and say: “Yes, I know. No words needed.”
Our department resembled a runway at rush hour — noise, hum, stomping, piles of papers. Numbers, acts, reconciliations, deadlines. Coffee flows like a river, and you only leave for home when it’s already night outside, and the streets are empty except for lonely street lamps shining behind you, as if seeing you off.
I have been here, honestly, for almost thirty years. I came here as a young graduate, and now — Marina Viktorovna, chief accountant.
I know every corner, every column, every detail in this system. I remember times when we counted on abacuses, and then first saw computers — huge, heavy, as if from the future.
Then everything changed. A few months ago, a new manager came to our department — Kirill Andreyevich.
A guy about twenty-eight years old, in an impeccable suit, with a branded coffee cup in his hand. He speaks in a “modern” language: “KPI,” “optimization,” “digitalization,” “processes.”
From day one, he looked at me as if I were an outdated part that needed replacing. Condescendingly, with a slight irony.
He was especially annoyed by my neat folders with paper copies. Once he came over and poked his finger disdainfully:
— Marina Viktorovna, what’s this? A museum of Soviet accounting?
— Everything’s long in the cloud! And your calculator should’ve been sent to the museum long ago!
He laughed, mentally patting himself on the shoulder for being “modern.”
But me — by the way — I wasn’t born yesterday. I know any “cloud” can disappear at any moment. But a paper document — it’s right there, in the safe, can’t be hacked or freeze. But he, young and ambitious, couldn’t understand this.
And then came the most critical moment — the final of the annual report. I had been working late for the third night in a row. My eyes felt heavy like lead, my head buzzed like a transformer. I was double-checking the balance — the most important part. One wrong digit — and that’s it: fines, disputes, the director’s anger, who hates any mistakes.
The office was silent, broken only by the clicking of keys. Everyone was tense like strings.
And then, as if on cue, Kirill Andreyevich entered. Fresh, well-groomed, scented with perfume like after a spa.
He glanced at my desk, buried in documents, and loudly, for the whole office, with a sneer:
— Marina Viktorovna, paper again? Maybe it’s time to stop clinging to the past? Make way for those who know their stuff, who work with digital solutions?
Girls, the room became so quiet you could hear dust falling. I felt everything inside me snap. It was like being publicly humiliated in front of everyone — those I myself taught, mentored, helped grow.
Hurt? That’s too weak a word. It was like a stab in the back.
I slowly raised my eyes. He stood there, smug, probably expecting me to start justifying myself or give up.
At first, I was really confused. But then — something clicked. Like a cold, clear light turned on in my head.
The hurt left. Instead — steel.
I looked at him and realized: enough patience. Enough silence. Time to act.
Without saying a word, I calmly, with dignity, stood up. No sudden movements, no chair creaking.
Carefully gathered all the sheets of the annual report — that very stack I had been working on for three days straight, sheet by sheet, checking every number.
And walked. Across the entire office. To his desk.
Everyone froze. Even stopped breathing. Eyes followed me like in a movie where the hero walks to the decisive scene.
Silence. Tension. And only footsteps.
I approached his desk and, with a barely noticeable, almost theatrical bow, placed the thick stack of documents right in front of him — on his fancy glass desk, where before there were only gadgets and a bottle of filtered water.
He was confused. Looked at me with bewilderment, as if trying to understand what kind of gesture this was — a challenge, a joke, or just fatigue.
I looked him straight in the eyes and, clearly pronouncing every word, said:
— Please, Kirill Andreyevich. The annual report.
He was silent. Didn’t even flinch.
— You’re our expert on new technologies, — I continued, tilting my head slightly. — So I think this won’t be difficult for you.
I paused, glanced at the folder with papers:
— Upload all this to your glorious “cloud.” Let nothing remain of these old-fashioned papers, not even a speck of dust.
And, not giving him time to respond, I added quietly, but with light irony:
— And then — send it directly to the CEO. I’m sure you can handle it?
Without waiting for a word back, I theatrically pressed the back of my hand to my forehead as if suddenly feeling dizzy.
— And I think it’s time for me to go. Feeling a bit unwell today… Probably because of this very “cloudiness.” It’s very dense for us today!
And, without turning back, I calmly headed to the exit. Steps measured, without haste. As if I had just closed an entire chapter.
Passing by my girls, I caught the delight, respect, and slight excitement in their eyes. I winked at them — one move, like on cue. And quietly, almost in a whisper:
— Girls, have a good evening. See you tomorrow!
The door closed behind me with a quiet click.
And the room was so silent that it seemed you could hear Kirill Andreyevich’s forehead sweating. Or his arrogance crashing with a crack under the weight of a single stack of papers.
That’s how it is, girls. Sometimes silence is not weakness. It’s the loudest answer.
If you cared — give a like. It’s like a warm blanket for my soul, especially after days like this.
And share in the comments — how have you put in their place those who considered themselves “smarter” and “more modern”? I’m sure each of you has your own story. And believe me, I’m very curious to hear it.
