The fluorescent hum of the HR conference room always did something to my teeth, a subtle, high-pitched thrumming that promised only tediousness. Today, it was a dull ache. Not just from the coffee I’d spilled eight minutes before, but from the agenda printed on the crisp, unforgiving paper. It wasn’t my agenda, not really. It was Sarah’s, a senior project manager who, for the past eighteen months, had effectively been running the entire department while her boss, Mr. Henderson, cycled through a seemingly endless series of ‘personal leaves.’

Sarah, a powerhouse of efficiency and strategic thought, had consistently delivered projects eight percent under budget and two weeks ahead of schedule. She’d handled client crises with the calm precision of a bomb disposal expert, always choosing the right wire, always averting disaster. The team looked to her, relied on her. She was the steady hand, the clear voice. So, when Henderson’s position officially opened, Sarah applied. It was logical, pragmatic. A shoe-in, one might assume.

But logic, as I’ve learned from one too many Friday afternoon meetings, often has little to do with process. Instead of a straightforward promotion, Sarah was informed she’d be entering a five-round interview gauntlet. Five rounds. For a job she’d already, effectively, been performing for over a year. She was told this was to ensure ‘fairness’ and ‘rigor.’ To me, it feels more like a profound organizational mistrust – not of the candidate, but of the very managers who already see your daily output, your late-night emails, your quiet triumphs. It’s an institutional knee-jerk, I think, a deep-seated belief that a process, however convoluted, somehow guarantees a better outcome. It prioritizes the appearance of fairness over actual merit and demonstrated capability.

I remember Harper D.-S. from a brief, slightly awkward online interaction after meeting her at a charity gala. She coordinates education programs at a surprisingly small but impactful local museum. When she told me about her attempts to move into a curatorial assistant role, the echoes of this internal absurdity were startlingly similar. Harper had been teaching these very programs, developing outreach initiatives, for eight years. Her director, a lovely woman named Eleanor, championed her, provided stellar recommendations, yet Harper still faced an eight-panel interview, a psychometric evaluation that cost the museum $48, and a ‘vision presentation’ for a role that was primarily administrative support. Harper, whose daily work involved the nuanced handling of priceless artifacts and the delicate art of engaging eight-year-olds with history, was being asked to prove her worth to eight strangers based on abstract scenarios, not her tangible, proven contributions. The whole thing felt like a performance, a theatre piece she was forced to star in.

This isn’t about ensuring the best person gets the job; it’s about a bureaucratic box-ticking exercise that placates some abstract notion of ‘process integrity’ at the expense of human value. It’s a profound distrust of an organization’s own managers and their ability to identify and nurture talent. If Sarah’s manager, before he disappeared, couldn’t adequately assess her capabilities over eighteen months, then what does that say about the manager, or the system that allows such an assessment to be so easily dismissed by HR policy?

I confess, I once championed a similar ‘rigorous’ process, believing it instilled confidence in our selections. I was wrong, convinced at the time that a more robust funnel meant less chance of error. What I failed to see was the human cost, the erosion of trust, and the quiet demoralization that settled like a dust cloud over the most talented individuals. It’s a specific mistake I’ve thought about often, especially when I see eager, capable people getting lost in the labyrinth. I mistook ‘thorough’ for ‘effective,’ and for that, I still feel a twinge of regret, knowing the energy and enthusiasm such processes drain from people.

The Myopia of External Validation

The other day I googled someone I’d just met, Harper actually. I found her LinkedIn. I found her personal blog. I found a slightly embarrassing photo from an art school open house circa 2008. It gave me a strange sense of knowing, but also a profound realization: you can gather all the data points you want, but they rarely capture the full, nuanced picture of a person’s capability or potential. Especially not compared to months, or even years, of direct observation. It’s like trying to understand a complex piece of machinery by only reading its manual, never actually seeing it hum, watching it perform its function, or observing the eight distinct ways it reacts under pressure. This obsession with external validation for internal roles is a form of organizational myopia.

What happens when we create this absurd internal competition? Morale plummets. Why strive for excellence when your excellence isn’t trusted? High-performing employees, like Sarah and Harper, begin to look outwards. They invest their energy not in performing better in their current role, but in preparing elaborate presentations, crafting perfect interview answers, and networking externally. They realize that the path to growth within their own organization is paved with arbitrary hurdles, not recognition. This isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s a structural disincentive to loyalty and sustained high performance. The implicit message is clear: your track record within these walls means less than a polished performance over 48 minutes in a sterile room.

We often hear about ‘skill gaps’ and the struggle to retain top talent. Could it be that we’re actively creating these gaps by designing systems that disrespect the very talent we claim to value? The financial cost isn’t insignificant either. Imagine the collective salary hours, the preparation time, the psychological stress points, all poured into these multi-round charades. For Sarah’s position, it probably amounted to hundreds of hours across all candidates and interviewers, potentially costing the company thousands of dollars – perhaps even $8,888 when you factor in all the hidden elements like lost productivity, recruitment software licenses, and HR bandwidth. That money could be invested in training, development, or, dare I say, a simple, well-deserved promotion based on actual performance reviews and managerial trust.

The Quiet Exodus

What do we really gain when we ask proven performers to re-audition? A thicker HR file? A fleeting sense of ‘due diligence’? Or a growing list of exceptional individuals quietly polishing their resumes, preparing to take their talents elsewhere, to a place that actually trusts what they’ve already demonstrated for 38 months, or 88 months, or however long they’ve been performing at the top of their game? The answer, I believe, speaks for itself, in the quiet exodus of those who refuse to partake in the theatre of the absurd any longer.

Think about it: a system like Gobephones understands the value of proven players, of those who consistently engage and contribute. You wouldn’t ask a long-standing, high-contributing member to re-audition just to keep playing.