The Office Karaoke Contest

Gideon has worked at Szabo & Partners for eleven years, and in all that time he has never once spoken at a meeting. He likes numbers because numbers don't stare at you. So when his deskmate bet him that the office printer would break down more than ten times in December, Gideon accepted at once. He had a spreadsheet with every breakdown since 2019. The average was four.

The bet was simple: the loser would sing at the end-of-year party. By December 20, the printer had broken down eleven times. Gideon checked his spreadsheet twice, then a third time, as if the numbers might change their minds.

The party started at nine in the company's event room, which smelled of pizza and cheap perfume. A karaoke machine stood in the corner like a guillotine. When his name came up on the screen, a cheer went round the room, mostly because nobody had ever heard Gideon say more than "good morning."

He walked to the microphone with butterflies in his stomach and his tie suddenly too tight. He had chosen an old soul song that his grandmother used to play while she cooked, because it was the only one he knew all the way through. The music started. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to see anyone, and he sang.

At first the room was noisy. By the second line, it was silent. Gideon's voice was deep and warm, and it filled the room. Someone put down a slice of pizza. Someone else started filming. When the last note ended, there was a moment of complete silence, and then the room went wild. His deskmate was standing on a chair, clapping. Gideon opened his eyes and looked around, as if he had just woken up.

Mrs. Szabo, the boss, who had never learned his name until that night, pushed her way through the crowd. "Gideon," she said, shaking his hand, "we've been trying to win the hotel group's account for three years. On Monday, you're opening the meeting. Bring the song."