Stop me if you’ve been in this position before.
You’ve just hired a new employee, and he seems nice enough. A little standoffish, maybe, but he’s good at what he does and he’s punctual. So far, so good.
During the hiring process it seemed like this guy—let’s call him Brad—it seemed like Brad asked a lot of questions about your policy on dogs in the office…probing, open-ended questions like “Is there a weight limit?” or “Do you have a policy on the amount of noise pets make when walking around the office?” When asked to clarify, he mumbled something about keeping claws trimmed, but it definitely struck you as odd.
The strangest thing was that when you asked Brad about his dog, he said he didn’t even have one. Maybe he’s thinking about getting one? Still…it’s strange, right? You can’t quite shake the feeling that Brad has a secret.
I’m sure you can guess what happens next.
Sure enough, Monday rolls around and Brad shows up—along with his pet goat.
For a moment, you’re too stunned to act as the brute clip-clops into the office. Then it catches you in its hellish, slot-pupiled gaze, and time stands still. Every unspeakable agony from an eon of torment in the abyss is compressed into that instant. All you can feel is pain, and the profound contempt of the universe for your very existence.
Your mind touches the void.
Half an hour later the dogs are cowering in a corner, there’s garbage and goat excrement everywhere, and the rest of your employees have been driven mad from the cacophonous clattering of hooves on hardwood. With a heavy heart, you’re forced to let Brad go. You spent weeks on his hiring process, and all you’ve got to show for it is a new company policy: Absolutely, Positively, No Goats.
Believe me, I’ve been there. I understand.
That’s why I think it’s important to set you and my future coworkers at ease by affirming that I have never previously owned, do not presently own, and will not at any time in the future own a goat.
No goats. That’s my commitment to you.