PIP’D: Death by Feedback

So let me tell you about the time I got put on a PIP—a Performance Improvement Plan, or as I now lovingly call it, Professional Initiation into Panic.

It started with a mysterious calendar invite from my manager and HR titled “Quick Chat 😊.” (The emoji was the first red flag.)

I show up, thinking maybe it’s about snacks or a new printer code. Instead, I get handed a manila folder like it’s a court summons. My manager looks at me like she’s about to break up with me after prom. HR’s nodding solemnly like a priest at a tax audit.

“Alex,” she says softly, “we’ve noticed some areas of opportunity.”

“Areas of opportunity?”

Lady, the only opportunity I need right now is an escape hatch.

They tell me the PIP isn’t punishment—it’s supportive.

Supportive?? You just handed me a corporate death sentence wrapped in a Google Doc and sprinkled it with clip art!

Then they go over my “plan.”

It includes:

• “Improve efficiency” (but keep doing 3 people’s jobs)

• “Demonstrate leadership” (but stop challenging anything ever)

• “Arrive on time” (despite 47 daily Zoom meetings and a broken coffee maker)

• “Smile more in emails” (HOW? They’re emails??)

And of course, we’re doing weekly check-ins so they can track my descent into madness like it’s a nature documentary:

“Here we see the endangered Employeeus Hopefulus… attempting to survive under the weight of vague feedback and corporate doublespeak.”

By Week 2, I was scheduling bathroom cries. Brad the mouse had started chewing on my performance goals out of protest. I began answering every question with “Per my PIP…” just to make it sound official.

Then Week 3 hit.

HR sent me a form asking how I “felt about my progress.” I responded with a single word:

“Trapped.”

They replied with a thumbs-up emoji and said, “Great self-awareness!”

At that point, I knew. This wasn’t about improvement.

This was corporate hospice.

So I did the only thing a true legend would do:

I preemptively resigned like a drama queen, added “Survived PIP Culture” to my LinkedIn, and moonwalked out of that Zoom call with grace, dignity, and a full spreadsheet of snarky exit quotes.

And guess what?

I landed somewhere better.

Somewhere that doesn’t assign PowerPoint therapy and weekly performance purgatories.

Moral of the story?

If they put you on a PIP, remember: it’s not a Plan to Improve You.

It’s a Plan to Exit You—with paperwork.

So take your stapler, your peace, and your slightly frayed sanity…

and walk out like the absolute icon you are. 💼🔥