Only Losers
Productivity
Dylan stared at the quarterly numbers on his screen, scrolling down, then back up, as if the figures might rearrange themselves into something that made sense. The company had invested heavily in AI integration over the past six months. New tools, new training sessions, new workflows. The productivity gains should have been obvious by now, maybe fifteen or twenty percent. Instead, the needle had barely moved. Sales calls per rep were up two percent. Proposal turnaround time had improved by half a day. Customer response rates were statistically unchanged.
He pulled up the adoption metrics dashboard. Usage was there, technically. People had logged into the systems, completed the mandatory training modules, generated the required number of AI-assisted outputs during the pilot phase. But the sustained engagement numbers told a different story. After the first month, daily active usage had cratered. People were doing the minimum to check the compliance boxes, then reverting to their old methods.
Dylan pushed back from his desk and walked out onto the sales floor.
Samantha and Rachel sat at adjacent workstations near the window, their screens angled slightly away from the main aisle. They were his top performers, consistently exceeding quota, the kind of employees you held up as examples during all-hands meetings. If anyone would have embraced tools that made their jobs easier, it should have been them.
“Got a minute?” Dylan asked, pulling over an empty chair.
Rachel minimized something on her screen. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m looking at the Q3 numbers. Trying to understand the AI adoption curve.” He kept his tone casual, curious rather than accusatory. “You two went through the advanced training. How’s it been working out?”
Samantha and Rachel exchanged a glance. It was brief, barely a flicker, but Dylan had been managing people long enough to recognize it. The silent negotiation of who would speak first, what story they would tell.
“It’s been fine,” Samantha said. “The tools are impressive.”
“Definitely impressive,” Rachel agreed. “Really powerful capabilities.”
Dylan waited. The pause stretched. “But?”
“No but,” Samantha said. “It’s great technology.”
“It’s just...” Rachel trailed off, looking at Samantha for help.
“It’s just what?”
Another glance. Rachel lowered her voice slightly, even though the nearest coworker was fifteen feet away. “Look, this is going to sound stupid.”
“Try me.”
“It’s become kind of...” She searched for the word. “Cringe.”
Dylan blinked. “Cringe.”
“Using AI for everything,” Samantha clarified. “There’s been this whole cultural shift. It started online, but it’s everywhere now. If people find out you’re using AI to write your emails or generate your proposals, they judge you. Like you’re cutting corners. Or you’re not capable of doing your own work.”
“I had a prospect last month,” Rachel said. “We were deep in negotiations, great rapport, and then he asked point blank if I was using AI to draft my communications. I told him yes, because we’re supposed to be transparent, and his whole demeanor changed. He said he preferred working with people who brought their own expertise to the table. We lost the deal.”
Dylan frowned. “One prospect.”
“It’s not just one. There’s this whole movement now where people brag about being AI-free. Like organic produce, or handmade goods. Human-powered is a status symbol. Using AI makes you look lazy, or out of touch, or like you don’t actually know your field.”
“My sister’s kid is in high school,” Rachel added. “She says if you get caught using AI for anything, you’re basically radioactive. That attitude didn’t stay in schools.”
Dylan was quiet for a moment. He thought about the executive presentations, the confident projections. Nobody had built a model for embarrassment.
“So the tools work,” he said slowly, “but nobody wants to be seen using them.”
Samantha shrugged. “That’s about the size of it.”
He nodded, thanked them for their honesty, and walked back to his office. He sat at his desk for a long time, looking at the adoption dashboard, the productivity metrics, the gap between expectation and reality. Then he opened a compose window, typed a few words, deleted them, and finally pulled up the AI assistant.
He hesitated, cursor blinking.
Then he started typing his prompt.
The next morning, the email arrived in everyone’s inbox at 7:45. Samantha saw the notification and opened it, scanning the subject line: “Recommitting to Our AI Integration Goals.”
She read the first paragraph, then the second. The structure was immaculate. Confident opening statement, three supporting points, a call to action that managed to sound both urgent and encouraging. Every sentence polished to a frictionless shine.
“Rachel.” She tilted her monitor. “Look at this.”
Rachel leaned over, read for a few seconds, and started laughing. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s absolutely perfect.”
“You think he knows we know?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Rachel turned back to her own screen, still smiling. “Doesn’t matter at all.”