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Captioned Images Series: Never Quit
Created: 05/14/2025
Morris Penley had worked at Gellman & Groff for seventeen years. He wasn’t flashy, he wasn’t loud, and he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to climb the corporate ladder with politics or schmoozing. He just did his work — thoroughly, consistently, and with a quiet sort of pride. Which, of course, made him a bit of a problem.
You see, Gellman & Groff didn’t want thorough. They didn’t want quiet pride. They wanted fresh, malleable, bright-eyed drones who wouldn’t ask questions or cling to the way things used to be. And Morris, with his battered thermos, his worn slacks, and his relentless loyalty, simply wouldn’t budge.
After several failed attempts to subtly push him out — demotions, a cubicle next to the elevator shaft, even changing his lunch break to 3:15 p.m. — upper management decided to take a different approach.
It was Linda from HR who delivered the memo.
“All employees must now adhere to the new corporate dress code,” she read aloud at the weekly staff meeting. “Effective Monday, all staff are to wear a mint green, knee-length dress with ruffled sleeves and hemline. This policy applies to all genders and is a mandatory component of our new culture-forward initiative.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“Is this a joke?” someone whispered.
But Morris simply nodded, folded the memo into his planner, and went back to his spreadsheets.
That Monday, the office buzzed with gossip and confusion. Most employees complied — awkwardly, begrudgingly, some with visible outrage. A few men called in “sick.” Some quietly handed in resignations. But Morris?
Morris walked in at 9:01 a.m., exactly one minute late as always, wearing a mint green dress with ruffles, a brown leather belt cinched neatly at the waist, and his usual loafers. He looked like he’d stepped out of a summer wedding from 1974 — and didn’t care one bit.
He went to his desk. He answered emails. He filled out reports. He didn’t say a word.
By Wednesday, people had stopped snickering. By Friday, three other men had quit. Management was baffled.
They upped the ante. They added matching bonnets to the dress code. “To encourage team spirit and visual unity,” the memo said.
Morris added a brooch to his bonnet and went about his day.
Then came the lipstick requirement. Morris bought coral pink and applied it neatly before his morning coffee.
Next: mandatory tap-dance breaks every hour on the hour. Morris borrowed tap shoes from a niece and danced like no one was watching, though everyone was.
It was the Friday of week six when the CEO finally cracked. Morris was in the break room making tea, still wearing the mint green ruffles — now upgraded with embroidered daisies at the hem — when the CEO stormed in.
“Morris, why won’t you just quit?”
Morris turned slowly, took a sip of his tea, and gave a small shrug.
“This is the best-paying job I’ve ever had,” he said. “And I’ve never much minded a little ruffle.”
The CEO blinked, defeated.
By Monday, the dress code was gone. But Morris wore the mint green dress anyway.
Just because he liked it.
Made with Freepik AI Image Generator