Sliding the heavy metal bolt into place, the sound echoing through the 29-foot corridor, I felt that familiar vibration in my pocket-another notification for a 12:49 PM ‘Optional Peer Support Session’ that I knew, with a sinking certainty, I couldn’t ignore. As a prison education coordinator, my world is usually defined by hard lines and absolute permissions. You either have the key, or you don’t. You’re in the cell, or you’re out. But when the administrative office sends an invite labeled ‘optional,’ the walls become porous and the rules turn into a fog. I’ve spent the last 19 years navigating systems designed to contain or reform, yet nothing feels quite as restrictive as a choice that isn’t actually a choice. It’s a social pressure test masquerading as flexibility, a way for leadership to maintain a veneer of respecting our time while simultaneously grading our loyalty on a curve we can’t see.

…checking the ‘Attendee’ list to see which of your colleagues have already surrendered. If the ‘A-players’ are going, your absence becomes a statement. If you skip it to do the actual work you were hired for, you’re not ‘engaged with the culture.’ You’re ‘siloed.’ You’re ‘not a team player.’ It’s a beautiful, terrible trap because the moment you call it out, the manager can simply shrug and say, ‘But I said it was optional.’

In the yard, we have a saying that ambiguity is the mother of all riots. When expectations aren’t clear, people start filling in the gaps with their own fears.

– Wisdom from the Yard

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Corporate life doesn’t lead to physical riots, but it leads to a slow-burning resentment that rots the foundation of trust. Take the ‘Optional Lunch & Learn’-the ultimate passive-aggressive weapon. It’s scheduled for noon, the only hour most of us have to breathe, eat, or maybe just stare at a wall in silence. To attend is to sacrifice your sanity; to skip is to signal that you don’t care about ‘professional development.’

Max B.K. once told me that the hardest part of his job wasn’t the inmates; it was the ‘voluntary’ committee meetings where the warden would watch the door to see who walked in. Max, being the kind of guy who doesn’t mind a bit of friction, would often sit right outside the glass-walled room at his desk, working loudly. He was making a point about the absurdity of the performance, but most of us don’t have that kind of skin. We just shuffle in, sit in the back, and wonder if we’re the only ones who see the emperor’s lack of clothes.

This psychological tax is exhausting. It forces every employee to become a high-level semiotician, decoding the hidden meanings behind every ‘if you can make it’ and ‘no pressure.’ We waste 139 minutes a week just debating whether or not to attend things we shouldn’t have to attend. It erodes psychological safety because it suggests that the real rules aren’t the ones written in the handbook, but the ones whispered in the hallway. If a meeting is important, make it mandatory. If it’s not important enough to be mandatory, why are we having it at all? The middle ground is where productivity goes to die. It’s a coward’s way of managing-avoiding the responsibility of demanding someone’s time while still demanding their presence.

The Philosophy of Unambiguous Structure

I think about the physical structures we build to house people. In my line of work, we deal with modularity and efficiency because there is no room for error. When you are designing a space that must function perfectly under pressure, every element must have a clear purpose. There are no ‘optional’ load-bearing walls. This philosophy of clarity and uncompromising standards is something I’ve seen executed brilliantly by Modular Home Ireland, where the process of creation is stripped of corporate double-speak. They understand that a home, like a career or a culture, needs a solid, unambiguous framework. You don’t guess if the roof is supposed to be there; it’s part of the design because it’s necessary. Imagine if our calendars worked that way-if every block of time was either a firm commitment or genuine freedom. The stress levels in the 89 offices I’ve visited over the years would drop by half overnight.

While that’s an extreme way to look at it, there’s a kernel of truth there. Corporate passive-aggression asks us to lie to ourselves and our bosses. It asks us to pretend that we are choosing to attend a 59-minute presentation on ‘Synergy in the Workplace’ during our lunch break because we are just that passionate about the topic. We aren’t. We’re just afraid of the invisible tally mark next to our names.

The Cost of Honesty

There’s a specific kind of fatigue that comes from this constant decoding. It’s like the feeling after you’ve checked the fridge for the third time and finally realize that no matter how many times you look, the ingredients for a better life aren’t going to materialize out of thin air. You have to go to the store. You have to change the environment. In a corporate sense, ‘going to the store’ means demanding radical honesty. It means managers having the courage to say, ‘This meeting is for those who want to be considered for the lead role on the next project,’ or ‘This is truly optional, and I will not look at the attendance list.’ But they won’t, because the ‘optional’ tag is too useful. It’s a low-cost loyalty test that requires zero accountability from the person administering it.

I’ve seen 79 different initiatives fail because they were built on this kind of shaky ground. People start to view every communication with suspicion. If the meeting is optional, is the ‘flexible’ PTO also a trap? Is the ‘open door’ policy just a way to catch people complaining? When you start playing games with people’s time, you lose their hearts. You might get their bodies in the seats for that 2:59 PM brainstorming session, but their minds are miles away… I’ve watched Max B.K. struggle with this when he tries to implement new educational modules. He has to be incredibly careful to ensure the inmates know exactly what is required and what is truly a bonus, because any hint of deception can destroy years of rapport-building.

Perhaps we’re afraid of the alternative. If we stop using ‘optional’ as a social filter, we have to face the fact that a lot of what we do in an office is filler. We have to admit that 69% of our meetings could have been an email. By labeling it ‘optional,’ we give the meeting a sense of importance it doesn’t deserve-it becomes an ‘event’ that people have to choose to be a part of. It’s a psychological trick to inflate the value of the mundane. But we aren’t being fooled. We’re just being tired. We’re tired of the performance, tired of the ambiguity, and tired of the fridge being empty every time we check.

In the end, it’s about the cost of honesty. It’s easier to be vague than to be clear. It’s easier to say ‘no pressure’ than to explain why a certain meeting is vital for the team’s success. But as I walk back through the gates, hearing the 39 keys jingle on the guard’s belt, I’m reminded that there is a certain peace in knowing exactly where you stand. The ‘optional’ meeting is a ghost in the machine, a remnant of a management style that values compliance over contribution. We deserve better than to be tested in secret. We deserve calendars that mean what they say and managers who don’t use ‘choice’ as a weapon.

Until then, I’ll probably keep checking the fridge, and I’ll probably keep clicking ‘Accept’ on those optional invites, even as I resent every second of it. But I won’t pretend it’s a choice. And neither should you.