No one said a word to me as I came in. People I worked with every day, passing them in the hallways — even my supervisor, who watched me come through the door and found something else to do instead of welcoming me in.

So I found a seat in the back, sat down, coat still on, arms crossed.

Employee Appreciation Day. Uh huh. Right.

Was there an action item list? A list of who was going to speak and when? What would happen during this forced time out from our work? The agenda didn’t mention it. Nobody told us. Not until we were already in our seats, already eating Taco Bar food from San Pueblo, the cheapest venue in Dawson County, Kansas — romaine that was fresh eight days earlier, Pico de Gallo thawed out, still a bit icy with the taste of freezer-burn covered by the cilantro. The corn tortilla chips were slightly stale, almost out of date. Five star rating? I’d give it a three. No. Two and a half.

Rethath stood at the front. Chief Executive Officer and Executive Director, Tasty Tots Incorporated, a nonprofit feeding hungry families across Kansas. His voice was soft and didn’t carry well in the large echo chamber of a venue. Outside it was snowing. Inside the room was just above the outside temperature, even with the thermostat reading seventy-five degrees. He held the mic close to his mouth, so those on staff with hearing impairments couldn’t read his lips. Was it intentional? I wasn’t sure — because even the amplifier and speaker setup was cheaper than his suit.

Rethath spoke about Tasty Tots’ newest direction, expansion of the factory complex, and new ways to modestly celebrate each individual employee. While he spoke, senior staff handed out keychains — a metal washer, hand-stamped with the number of years we’d served the organization. A reminder of what we had given and how little we were valued as staff.

Before I took the job, I spent hours researching Tasty Tots. I knew their 990, and the salaries of the C-suite leaders, long before I accepted the assistant support specialist job. I’d done my homework. My due diligence. Millions of dollars flowing into a small corner of Kansas. His six-figure income declared to the IRS, along with a five-figure bonus given by the board. Not by performance. Just on whether or not the board approved of his behavior. Well, not that I know that. But based on the research and data? I figured some part of it was true. So I’d told them in my interview I couldn’t do the job for less than forty thousand a year. Human resources and my soon-to-be supervisor didn’t flinch. They flat out said no. The pay was the pay. And even though it was $29k a year? I needed the job.

By the time Rethath got to the part about motivation, his voice changed in pitch and register. So did his body language. Like an angry preacher, his fury was soft. Then it wasn’t. He pointed out the people on the verge of falling asleep — some of them still up after working an overnight shift. They weren’t paying attention to him. And he was mad about it.

“You should be grateful,” he shouted. “You shouldn’t expect to get more than you were given!”

Ironic, given his six-figure income. I didn’t see how this was supposed to motivate me to work harder. This was what we were supposed to appreciate?

Then he said it.

“I don’t need a title. I’m comfortable with who I am.”

In 2021 — the year of masks, remote work, and people struggling just to keep their lights on — the lowest-tier employees at Tasty Tots received a 1.5% cost-of-living raise. For many it was just enough to push them into the next tax bracket. Candi told me how hard it was, working my position three years earlier. We worked together some, but she didn’t talk much. More like the server you meet at Applebee’s — short, friendly conversation, no substance. Rethath, however, took home twenty-five percent more than the year before. If that had been distributed to the staff, each person would’ve seen more than a five dollar an hour increase.

He stood up there, confident and comfortable in his own skin, angry at us for not being more grateful, and told us he didn’t need what he had.

I walked out into the snow, bonus check in my coat pocket, keychain in my hand. I’m comfortable in my own skin too. But having a six-figure salary? It’d sure make it easier to live in.