The Vanishing Afternoon Tea

Zhang Qiang stared at the empty tea room, feeling a void in his heart. The shelves, once filled with snacks and drinks, now only held cold glass and a few outdated notices. ByteDance had canceled afternoon tea. The news was like a silent earthquake, causing the entire office area to feel a bit shaky.

Zhang Qiang had been working at ByteDance for three years, progressing from a naive intern to a slightly jaded team leader. Afternoon tea was the moment he looked forward to most each day. That brief twenty minutes was a rare time for him and his colleagues to relax, and it was the fuel that allowed him to continue into the endless ocean of code.

But now, the fuel was gone.

At first, everyone just complained quietly at their workstations, saying that the company must be having financial troubles and was starting to "reduce costs and increase efficiency." But Zhang Qiang felt that it wasn't that simple. After all, ByteDance's stock price was still soaring, and advertising revenue was breaking records. Afternoon tea was just a drop in the ocean compared to their vast business empire.

He started to pay attention to the changes in the company. The once lively break area had become deserted, and the communication between colleagues had also decreased. What replaced it was the rapid rhythm of keyboard strokes and the occasional ringing of phones. Everyone was at their respective workstations, like wound-up robots, working tirelessly.

Zhang Qiang felt that something was wrong, and he tried to talk to his colleagues about it. But everyone seemed to have become silent, either perfunctorily saying "it's the same for work anyway" or changing the topic to discuss the latest stocks and real estate.

Only Old Wang, a veteran employee who had been at ByteDance for ten years, seemed to see through everything. That noon, Old Wang pulled Zhang Qiang to the stairwell and said mysteriously, "Xiao Zhang, do you think the company just canceled afternoon tea? You're being too naive."

"Old Wang, what do you mean by that?" Zhang Qiang asked in confusion.

Old Wang lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke: "Let me tell you, this afternoon tea isn't just a snack; it's also a 'connector,' an 'anesthetic' that makes you lower your guard."

"Anesthetic?"

"Yes. Think about it, during afternoon tea, don't people usually talk about things other than work? Talking about life, complaining about the boss, getting closer to each other. But now, all of that has been canceled. Everyone can only mind their own business, without interfering with each other. That's what the company wants. They don't want us to have too much interpersonal interaction. They want us to be like independent nodes, operating efficiently and not letting emotions affect efficiency."

Old Wang continued, “They’re using technology to turn us into 'efficient individuals.' Without afternoon tea, the 'connector,' we’re like isolated machines, repeating the same work every day, losing ourselves, and eventually being swallowed by this vast system."

After listening to Old Wang's words, Zhang Qiang felt a chill run down his spine. He realized that ByteDance canceled afternoon tea not to save costs but for deeper control and alienation.

To verify his thoughts, Zhang Qiang conducted a small experiment. Every day at three o'clock in the afternoon, he would put aside his work and go to the tea room. Although there were no snacks or drinks, he would still sit there, observing his colleagues who passed by.

He found that, at first, everyone would look at him with curiosity, but soon they would lower their heads and continue working as if he were invisible. Gradually, fewer and fewer people came to the tea room, leaving only him, sitting there alone, like a forgotten ghost of the times.

One day, Zhang Qiang saw a cleaning lady in the tea room, quietly collecting the garbage. He suddenly remembered what Old Wang had said and couldn't help but ask: "Auntie, do you think our company is becoming more and more like a machine?"

The cleaning lady put down the broom in her hand, looked at Zhang Qiang, and said slowly, "Young man, machines don't talk, but people will tell the truth."

Then, she pointed to the discarded afternoon tea wrappers on the floor and said softly: "These are all proof that you once existed."

Zhang Qiang looked at the colorful wrappers and suddenly understood. Perhaps the company had not only canceled afternoon tea but was also trying to erase the memories they once had, those vivid, real, and humane memories.

Zhang Qiang suddenly picked up his phone, opened the company's internal forum, and posted a message: "I'll be in the tea room at three o'clock this afternoon, let's 'slack off' together."

He knew that this might cost him, but he had to do something to resist this invisible alienation, to reclaim the real warmth they once had.