The air in the 42nd-floor office buzzed with the faint hum of holographic displays and soft chatter, but it all seemed to drift around Graydon Pallor like background noise. He stood stiffly at his workstation, arms crossed with his sharp gaze fixed on the offending object at the centre of this quiet rebellion: A teal chair shoved into a corner next to the wall.

It wasn’t an ordinary chair, at least not in the eyes of Chromadyne’s HR department. It was designed to match the company’s Colour Harmony Profiles and gleamed with cheerful intent. Its ergonomic curves practically begging anyone to sit in it.

But to Graydon, it was an insult, a gaudy imposition on his grayscale sanctuary.

“I see you’ve decided to make a statement, Mr. Pallor,” Candice Cyan, the HR floor manager, said as she approached his desk. Her turquoise blazer exactly matched the hue of the cursed chair.

Graydon didn’t turn to face her. “I’m not making a statement, Candice” he said flatly. “I just don’t feel teal.”

Candice folded her arms. She glanced at the chair’s conspicuous placement next to the wall. It was exiled from its intended spot.
In her opinion that should have been behind Graydon’s desk.

“You moved it?”

“Yes,” Graydon replied, calmly but unyielding. “It was IN – MY – WAY.”

“It’s company property,” Candice said, her voice tightening.

„Well, I didn’t steal it, did I?“ Graydon replied.

Candice continued: „The chair is meant to enhance productivity and mood. Studies show that—”

“I know the studies,” Graydon interrupted. “I’ve read the company memos and I’m not interested. I don’t want the chair, Candice. It’s teal. You know I dislike repeating myself, but I don’t feel teal.” Graydon was however clearly enjoying his little rhyme.

“Well,” she said, adjusting her blazer, “standing araound all day isn’t exactly standard office protocol. You’re drawing attention to yourself, Graydon.”

Graydon finally turned, his unflinching gaze meeting hers. “I am standing because that chair doesn’t belong here. I didn’t ask for it, and I won’t use it. Give me back my old chair!”

„It was grey“, Candice said, a disgusted tone in her voice.

„Exactly,“ Graydon replied. „That is my colour, Candice. Everyone here is entitled to have their own colour profile and mine happens to be grey.“

„And teal and grey are such a perfect match“, Candice said, trying another more, as she though of it, diplomatic approach.

Graydon just vigorously shook his head at this adding in no longer angry, but somehow nearly sad tone: „Your don’t get it, Candice.“

Nearby, coworkers whispered and stole glances at the standoff.

Candice rubbed her temples, her composure fraying. “You realize this is absurd, don’t you? You can’t just refuse—”

“I already have,” Graydon said simply, turning back to his screen.

„Aargh, I cannot deal with this Graydon. Sit on the damn chair.“ Candice exploded.

„I am not going to sit on it. Period“ Graydon replied calmly.

By the end of the day, the entire office was abuzz with whispers about Graydon’s quiet protest. It was said that he had stood for eight hours straight. Apparently, he had even taken his lunch break at his desk, standing, without so much as glancing at the exiled teal chair.

That evening, HR convened an emergency meeting. By the next morning, Graydon’s workspace was officially declared an exception to the Teal Chair Initiative and his grey chair, matching the muted hues of Graydon’s cubicle was back, as if it had never been missing.

It was the first and last time a teal chair or anything else more colourful than slate grey had dared to invade Graydon’s corner of Chromadyne.