I used to be proud of where I worked.
I’m Ethan, 34 now. Back in 2023, I was a team lead at a growing e-commerce company in Portland called PeakPulse. We handled customer experience for a bunch of mid-sized online retailers — think chat support, email tickets, social media responses, returns, the whole thing. The department had about 35 people split into four teams. It was fast-paced, sometimes stressful, but we had a solid culture: monthly team outings, good benefits, transparent metrics, and a manager most of us respected.
That manager was Carla — mid-40s, sharp, fair, actually listened. She got promoted to director in late 2023 and was replaced by Victor.
Victor was 38, charismatic, always in tailored shirts and expensive sneakers. He came from a bigger company with a reputation for turning teams around. Upper leadership loved him on paper. The first month he was great — town halls, one-on-ones, big ideas about “reimagining CX excellence.”
Then the favoritism started.
There was this one agent on my team named Kyle — 25, recent college grad, outgoing, quick with memes in Slack. He was good at his job, not exceptional, but solid. Somehow, within weeks, Kyle became Victor’s obvious favorite.
It began small. Victor would swing by Kyle’s desk multiple times a day to chat about non-work stuff — fantasy football, craft beer, whatever. He’d laugh extra loud at Kyle’s jokes in meetings. When we did team huddles, Victor would single Kyle out: “Great point, Kyle!” even when Kyle just repeated what someone else said.
Then came the opportunities.
We had a new client onboarding — a big outdoor gear brand worth a lot of revenue. Victor announced he was creating a special “Client Success Squad” to handle it: better shifts, higher visibility, potential bonuses. Everyone assumed it would be the top performers from each team.
He picked Kyle. And three people from other teams who were noticeably lower on the leaderboard.
I asked in private why Kyle was chosen over agents with 20-30% higher CSAT scores and half the error rate. Victor smiled and said, “Kyle has upside. He’s a leader in the making. Metrics aren’t everything.”
Okay. Fine. One decision.
But it kept happening.
Kyle got to work from home three days a week while the rest of us were required in-office four days. Kyle got the newest MacBook when equipment refreshed — even though several of us had older machines crashing daily. Kyle was invited to executive lunches. Kyle presented at the all-company meeting about “innovation in CX” — using slides the rest of the team had built.
Victor started routing the easiest tickets to Kyle’s queue so his stats looked amazing. When performance reviews came, Kyle — who was solidly middle-of-the-pack before — got the highest rating in the department and a 22% raise. Several top performers, including me, got “meets expectations” and 4-6%.
People noticed.
At first it was whispers. Then Slack side channels. Then open frustration.
Morale tanked.
The hardest workers started doing the bare minimum. Why grind when Kyle got rewarded for showing up and charming the boss? People stopped volunteering for extra shifts. Error rates crept up. Customer complaints rose. Two of our best agents — Maria and Jamal, both with perfect records — put in their notice within a month of Kyle’s raise.
I tried talking to Victor again. Scheduled a one-on-one, kept it professional.
“Hey, I’ve heard some concerns about perceived favoritism. It’s affecting motivation. Maybe we could make opportunities more transparent?”
He leaned back, smirking slightly. “Ethan, I reward potential and cultural fit. If people are upset, maybe they should look at their own contributions. Kyle’s a star — he gets it.”
I left that meeting knowing nothing would change.
Things got worse.
Victor restructured the teams “for efficiency.” Suddenly Kyle reported directly to him as “CX Special Projects Lead” — a title he invented, with no extra work but a salary bump. The rest of us got heavier workloads to cover the “special projects” Kyle was supposedly handling (which mostly seemed to be long lunches).
The breaking point came in Q3 2024.
We had our annual team-building offsite — a weekend at a coastal resort, paid for by the company. Everyone was burned out, so we were actually looking forward to it.
Victor brought Kyle as his plus-one to the executive dinner the night before the main event. The rest of us weren’t invited.
Then, during the big group activity — a scavenger hunt — Victor paired everyone strategically except he and Kyle were their own “VIP team” with a shorter list and better prizes.
People lost it.
Half the department refused to participate. We sat on the beach drinking the free beer and venting. Someone started a group chat called “PeakPulse Survivors.” Jokes turned dark. Three more people verbally committed to leaving that weekend.
By the end of 2024, twelve people had quit — over a third of the department. Most were the highest performers. The company had to hire temps at premium rates just to keep service levels from collapsing. Client satisfaction scores dropped into the red for the first time in years.
Upper leadership finally noticed.
They brought in an external consultant to do “climate interviews.” Almost everyone named the same issue: Victor’s blatant favoritism toward Kyle was killing the team.
Victor was “reassigned” to a vague strategic role in early 2025 — basically a lateral move out of management. Kyle was moved back to regular agent duties, but the damage was irreversible.
Most of the people who left never came back. I stuck it out another six months under the new manager (who was great), but the culture never fully recovered. Too much trust had been broken.
I left in summer 2025 for a competitor — better pay, fully remote, no drama.
Victor still works there, from what I hear. Kyle got promoted again recently.
The craziest part? Victor genuinely seemed confused why everyone was upset. He thought he was “investing in talent.”
But favoritism isn’t investment. It’s erosion.
It slowly chips away at fairness, effort, loyalty — until the whole structure crumbles.
I learned that the most dangerous boss isn’t the screamer or the micromanager.
It’s the one who picks a favorite and makes everyone else feel invisible.
Because once people realize hard work doesn’t matter — only who you charm — they stop giving their best.
And no company survives that for long.
TL;DR: New manager showed extreme, obvious favoritism toward one mediocre employee — special treatment, unearned promotions, invented titles. Top performers became demotivated, morale collapsed, and over a third of the department quit within a year, tanking client satisfaction. Favoritism destroyed a once-great team culture that never fully recovered.
