My buddy’s company had something happen last month. A new guy came in—had been shut up for half a year, like a mute.

At noon, he took a call; his face went chalk-white—his mom had a brain hemorrhage, and he’d been at the ICU fighting for her life.
He went to ask his supervisor for leave. The supervisor was tapping at the keyboard, not even looking up: “Come back when your mom dies to ask for leave.”
That guy didn’t say a word. His mouth corners drooped; his eyes narrowed.
He turned around, grabbed that potted Clivia on the supervisor’s desk with both hands—soil and roots, all of it—then smashed it onto the laptop with a loud crash. Mud and water splattered everywhere; the screen shattered into snowflakes; and black earth filled the gaps in the keyboard.
The supervisor was so scared his chair rocked back. That guy wiped the dirt off his hands on his pants, then looked down at the supervisor and said:
“Bro, say that thing you just said again.”
The supervisor opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
That guy nodded, then left. His paycheck wasn’t settled, and he never came back.
Later, HR called to say it was counted as his voluntary resignation. On the other end, he just replied, “Okay.”
My buddy later told me they repaired that computer for 3,800. But as for what the supervisor said—up to now, no one dares to bring it up.
Some people’s conscience doesn’t grow until their own mom is lying in the ICU.