Workplace reviews and discussion: 天眼衛星科技股份有限公司

Ghost story…

The company benefits are okay, I guess. On the surface, they look varied and impressive: afternoon tea, massages, red envelopes on your birthday—it sounds like a model of a people-oriented company. But in reality? These “benefits” exist only to cover up one thing: the fact that employees are risking their lives to fill the holes. You work overtime into the night, travel until you’re burned out, and even show up at the office on holidays, while being told, “The company really does take care of everyone.”

Meanwhile, certain people get to live carefree. They swagger around at work scrolling through their phones, wear headphones to watch Netflix, and even open mobile games at their desks. Managers pretend not to see, and coworkers have learned to keep quiet—because you know they’re the kind of people you “can’t afford to offend.” They may not necessarily have ability, but they absolutely have connections. Doing nothing is fine; as long as they don’t make any major mistakes and are skilled at passing the blame, they live more comfortably than anyone.

By contrast, the people who actually do the work spend the day cleaning up the messes left by business blunders, then patch bugs and fill out reports at night. In the end, they may even be criticized for “lacking cooperation” simply because they didn’t reply immediately. During performance reviews, the phone-scrolling slackers can smile and say, “I helped with this project too,” then shamelessly claim their share of the credit.

This company has an unwritten rule: being shameless enough to survive is itself a competitive advantage. Knowing how to work gets you nowhere; knowing how to play dead is what keeps you around. You think you’re fighting to succeed in the workplace, but really, you’re just a stepping stone for someone else’s promotion. Benefits? They’re better described as painkillers—something to keep you from realizing too quickly that the system is slowly squeezing you dry.

There’s everything in the dream—why not consult your own spirit?

The sales team is a harvester of rotten deals. Whenever someone in the company lands a bizarre client, an absurd timeline, or a wildly unrealistic request, everyone else avoids it like the plague. He, however, lights up and says with a smile, “I’ll take this one. The performance numbers will look great.”

His real specialty isn’t closing deals but packaging them—making projects that are fundamentally impossible sound like Silicon Valley miracles; sending out an unfinished presentation and calling it “rapid response”; and even treating client abuse as evidence of “high engagement and high expectations.” Can’t issue an invoice? That just means the client is flexible. The product doesn’t work? That means the internal process hasn’t been optimized. His only responsibility is bringing the deal in. How it blows up afterward is someone else’s problem.

He never fixes bugs, yet he’s always saying, “This is urgent—could the engineers hang in there?” He never understands the product, yet in front of clients he’s always pontificating: “Our technology is very strong; we’re just fine-tuning it.” Whenever something goes wrong in a meeting, his first line is always, “I did remind the internal team, but apparently no one followed through.” He single-handedly nurtures the company’s most stable ecosystem of scapegoats.

Expense claims are an art, and he is a master. Even buying drinks can be spun as client relationship management; an Uber ride becomes an emergency site inspection; and the late-night snacks charged as “negotiating the deal without sleep or rest” cost more than an overtime engineer’s salary. The numbers in his performance report are all piled up through PowerPoint magic. The bar charts for client satisfaction never indicate the sample size, because no one was ever asked.

In the end, he always takes the bonus and gets promoted before leaving, while the mess created under the banner of “the team working together” is left for interns to clean up, engineers to handle overnight, and support staff to address in an endless loop of: “We’ll report back to sales again.” They remain stuck in the pit, while he is already preparing to smile at the next land mine—and then step on it elegantly, leaving everyone else to explode.