I got a little revenge during an interview. The HR asked me about my stress tolerance.

The look on the director’s face was priceless when, at the next stage, I asked him what his was.

He blinked, gave a weird little chuckle, and said, “I’m sorry?”
So I repeated it, real polite-like: “You’re asking me to manage high workloads, shifting deadlines, and client escalations solo. Just wondering—how do you manage stress when, say, your entire team burns out?”

There was this pause. Not long. But thick enough to slice with a butter knife.

Here’s the thing. I wasn’t always this bold. Two years ago, I would’ve just smiled, nodded, and said something chirpy about yoga or resilience. But two years ago, I hadn’t yet worked for Glenrock Associates.

Let me take you back.

In late 2022, I’d been job-hunting like my rent depended on it—which it did. I finally landed a job at Glenrock Associates, a mid-sized marketing agency in the middle of some corporate soul-sucking park in New Jersey. Their office smelled like microwave popcorn and printer ink, and everyone looked like they were one passive-aggressive email away from full collapse.

Still, I was hopeful. Naive, maybe, but hopeful. It paid decently, and my manager, Trina, seemed nice at first. Warm voice, lots of “you’re going to do great here” during the onboarding week.

That lasted about six days.

Then came the real Glenrock.

Trina turned out to be the queen of “circling back” and “touching base” at 8 p.m. with “urgent” weekend work. She’d say things like, “I know it’s your PTO, but if you could just…” and pretend it was optional.

It wasn’t.

The team was drowning, but no one said a word. We were all paddling quietly with smiles plastered on. I remember one Friday, Maya, our copywriter, burst into tears mid-Zoom call. She tried to pass it off as allergies. Trina just asked her to mute herself.

The kicker? We got quarterly pizza parties. One time they handed out foam stress balls shaped like little brains. “For mental health!” they said. As if squeezing neon rubber was going to erase 70-hour weeks.

I lasted a year. Barely.

What finally broke me was when I missed my cousin’s wedding because Trina told me we had a “client crisis.” She made it sound catastrophic. I canceled my flight, cried in the airport parking lot, and spent the weekend rewriting a pitch deck for a client who, by Monday, had ghosted us completely.

When I resigned two months later, she had the audacity to say, “I hope this isn’t because you’re overwhelmed. If so, we should talk about your coping strategies.”

No, Trina. It’s because I want to sleep without dreaming in bullet points.

Anyway. Fast-forward to now.

New year, new resume, new therapist. I’d spent the last few months getting back on my feet. Took temp work, freelanced, found the ground under me again.

Then I saw a posting from this other agency—Willow & Hart. Their website talked about mental wellness, work-life balance, employee-driven initiatives. All the good buzzwords, you know? But I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew how slick these companies could be.

So I applied, got an interview, and made a little promise to myself: if anything even smelled like Glenrock, I’d walk. No hesitation.

First round was with HR—Brenda. Seemed sweet. She asked me, “Tell me about a time you handled stress in a fast-paced environment.”

I said, “Sure. One time I had six campaigns due and only five fingers to type with.” We laughed. I softened it with some real examples, but I clocked how much they liked hearing the words “high capacity” and “adaptable.”

Second round was the director—Miles.

Polished. Youngish. The kind of guy who uses the word “synergy” unironically and thinks iced espresso is a personality. His office had one of those minimalist “Live Laugh Love” knockoffs that said “Grind Hustle Repeat.”

So when he asked me, “Do you think you can handle high-pressure days? Sometimes things get intense here,” I gave him a small, polite smile and said, “Can I ask how you personally manage stress in this environment?”

And just like that, the script flipped.

His face twitched. Like I’d asked him his cholesterol level.

He said, “Well, I—uh—I decompress in the gym. I don’t really get stressed.”

That’s when I knew.
He absolutely did. And he probably dumped all his pressure down the chain until it evaporated into HR reports.

We finished the interview, but I already had one foot out the door mentally. I needed a job, sure, but not another corporate fever dream.

As I was leaving, I heard Brenda call out after me. “Could I chat with you privately for a minute?”

I figured maybe I’d left a paper in the conference room or something, but she closed the door and looked… different. Not HR-sweet. Just real.

“Look,” she said, “I probably shouldn’t say this, but… thank you. No one ever asks him that. And we’ve had five people quit this quarter. Quietly. No exit interviews. It’s not great.”

I blinked. “So why stay?”

She gave a shrug that said everything. “Mortgage. Kids. Healthcare.”

I nodded. That old weight in my chest tightened. The invisible one people carry just to survive in this broken system.

I thanked her and left.

Then I did something I hadn’t done before: I posted about it.

Not naming names or being petty. Just shared the story on LinkedIn—kept it clean. Talked about the power of asking questions in interviews, how candidates aren’t the only ones being evaluated. I wrote: “If they can’t answer how they handle stress, it’s probably because they expect you to absorb it all.”

Didn’t think much of it.

By morning, it had 30,000 likes.

By the next day? Over 200,000.
Comments from burned-out employees, recruiters, even some execs who said, “This made me reflect on how I treat my team.”

Some of my old Glenrock coworkers even messaged me privately. Maya said, “I left. I saw your post and finally gave notice. Thank you.”

And then—get this—Trina commented too. “So unprofessional to air these kinds of things online. No wonder you couldn’t handle the pressure.”

I laughed so hard I nearly snorted coffee through my nose.

I didn’t reply. Didn’t have to. The comments under hers roasted her so clean, I swear the smoke alarm went off.

But here’s the real twist.

A week later, I got a message from a woman named Neela. She said, “Hi, I’m the founder of an agency in Chicago. I read your post. We’re remote-first, mental-health-forward, and actively hiring. Want to talk?”

I did.

Neela was everything Trina wasn’t—sharp, kind, self-aware. She didn’t ask if I could “handle stress.” She asked, “What makes you feel supported at work?”

I almost cried on the call.

Two weeks later, I had an offer. Better pay, actual PTO, mental health days built in, and—get this—every Friday, the company logs off at 2 p.m. unless there’s an emergency.

I started last month.
And for the first time in years, I’m not afraid to open my inbox.

My coworkers are real humans. Not burned-out husks. We do good work, collaborate, lift each other up. There’s no guilt-tripping. No “family” talk masking unpaid overtime. Just mutual respect.

And the best part?

I got to be the push for someone else. Maya left Glenrock and got hired at a non-profit through one of the commenters on my post. Brenda—HR Brenda—DM’d me two weeks ago and said, “I finally gave notice. I’ve got a few interviews lined up. Thanks for reminding me I’m allowed to want better.”

So yeah. Maybe it was a little revenge, asking Miles about his stress tolerance.
But maybe it was also a little freedom—for me, and for everyone watching.

The lesson? Interviews go both ways. Companies love to ask if you can take the heat. Start asking if they’ve even cleaned their kitchen.

And if the red flags are flapping from the first question? Walk. There are better places. Better people.

We’re not stuck. Not forever.

If this resonated, give it a like or share it with someone stuck in a job that’s draining their soul. You never know who might need a little nudge.