Read the Room

EZRA: Today on Humans in the Loop—what if speaking up didn’t mean blowing a whistle, but just saying something…obvious? This is Jo’s story. Jo’s not loud. Not a crusader. Jo just saw a thing, and said a thing. Not even a complaint. Just an observation. And somehow, that was too much. This episode is about office politics, unspoken rules, and the gap between good intentions and good reception. It’s also about what it means to read the room—skills that don’t always come naturally, or even at all, to neurodivergent employees.

So here’s how the story plays out:

Act 1: A mild suggestion goes sideways.
Act 2: An observation is taken as a threat.
Act 3: Jo accidentally outperforms someone they've never met.
Act 4: We talk about why "reading the room" might not be an upskillable skill.
And in Act 5: What a better culture could actually look like.

If any of this already feels familiar… you’re not the only one.

Before we begin—a quick pause for anyone who’s ever bought a planner, color-coded it…and then abandoned it by Wednesday. This fake ad is for you.

AD: Spark and Spiral™

EZRA: Don't try to buy that. Spark & Spiral™ doesn't exist. The ad? Satire. The need? Completely real. If you’re building something like it—something that actually supports neurodivergent folks—we’d love to know. Because structure should feel like support, not like something you're quietly failing at.

Act One: The agenda incident.

Jo had an idea. Not a revolution. Not a challenge to leadership. Just a way to make a routine meeting slightly less…painful.

JO: I said, “Hey, what if we shared the agenda before the call?” That’s it. That’s all I said. I even added: “Totally cool if not!” I padded it. I softened it. Like I was handing someone a kitten. I thought I was being helpful.

EZRA: Their manager nodded politely. Said thanks. The next day, Jo was dropped from the planning alias.

JO: No one said anything. Just…poof. I stopped getting invites. Like I’d committed a felony by suggesting a ten-minute head start.

EZRA: It wasn’t what Jo said. It was that they said it. Unprompted. From the wrong role. A suggestion, it turns out, can be seen as a challenge.

Act Two: Right idea, wrong person.

In some orgs, the right idea from the wrong person isn’t seen as helpful. It’s seen as disruptive. And the more reasonable it is, the more threatening it becomes. Especially if it exposes something others have been ignoring.

JO: I once had a director say, “That’s a great point,” with a tone like I’d just insulted their kid. Like I was rude for noticing something that was broken.

EZRA: It’s not always the content of what’s said, it’s the context. And context is something neurodivergent folks aren’t always wired to interpret. Not because we’re naïve. But because we’re working from a different operating system.

JO: People keep saying, “Read the room.” I am reading the room. I’m just not pretending it says something it doesn’t.

EZRA: Act Three: The turf ghost.

Then there was the gap. The thing no one owned but that clearly needed fixing. So Jo did it. Quietly. Competently. No drama.

JO: I built a process doc. People were asking the same question every week. I was tired of repeating myself. Took me maybe an hour. Simple. Clear. Shareable. Done.

EZRA: What Jo didn’t know? That question technically belonged to someone else. Someone Jo had never met. Who’d…not been answering it.

JO: Apparently, I "undermined their role." They filed a complaint with my manager. I still don’t know what that role is. Or if they’ve ever actually done it. But sure, I’m the problem.

EZRA: The feedback wasn’t about harm. It was about hierarchy. The real sin? Being more competent than the person who holds the title. And competence, unsolicited, is not always welcomed.

Act Four: The room is a lie.

Office politics isn’t just about understanding people. It’s about understanding invisible rules. And not everyone can learn those rules. Not fully. Not reliably.

JO: People act like reading the room is basic literacy. For me, it’s like trying to read a book that keeps rewriting itself. The tone shifts. The pages glitch. I get halfway through and someone says, “Didn’t you see the subtext?” No. No, I didn’t.

EZRA: For neurodivergent employees, “reading the room” might always be partial, or lagging. Not from lack of effort. But because the game itself runs on signals we don’t detect.

JO: It’s not like I’m trying to be oblivious. I’ve watched trainings. I’ve studied social scripts. I’ve asked for feedback. I still get it wrong. Or I get it too right and everyone gets uncomfortable.

EZRA: And here’s the kicker: some people think the solution is more training. More coaching. More masking. But maybe the problem isn’t Jo. Maybe it’s a culture where silence is safety, and status beats clarity.

We say emotional intelligence matters. But let’s be honest—what we really reward is tone. Timing. Gravitas. The performance of connection. We don’t pause to ask: Who else is picking up on something important? Even if they say it…wrong. So here’s a solution. Not to make workplaces clearer—but to help the truth-tellers blend in.

AD: Implyant™

EZRA: Implyant™ isn’t real. We made the ad to prove a point: too often, we reward those who speak in the right rhythm, and sideline the ones who notice things that actually matter. Culture isn’t built by tone. It’s built by truth. And when we only listen to people fluent in subtext and swagger, we miss the signals that could change everything. What if the room made space for that?

Act Five: A culture worth building.

EZRA: So what would a better culture look like? One where noticing things isn’t seen as insubordination? Where being helpful doesn’t earn you a warning?

JO: I don’t need to be right all the time. Or agreed with. I just want to work where I’m allowed to notice things. Where curiosity isn’t seen as a threat.

EZRA: Jo isn’t trying to be difficult. They’re trying to be useful. But in a workplace that rewards silence with survival, it’s the truth-tellers—even the gentle ones—who burn out first.

This episode isn’t about policy violations or massive breaches of trust. It’s about something smaller. More ordinary. A quiet observation. A helpful suggestion. A truth that didn’t land well. And the question we’re left with is: Who gets to speak plainly, and who pays a price for doing it?

If this episode felt familiar, you’re probably someone who’s spoken up in a meeting where people wanted consensus, not clarity. You’re not imagining it. You can find more stories like this by subscribing to Humans in the Loop wherever you get your podcasts. Follow us @loopedinhumans for episode drops, satire, and those awkward silences that happen right after you name the actual problem.

Want to help us keep making this work? You can support the show on Patreon. And if you’re building tools that help people speak up—without getting benched, branded, or bulldozed—we want to hear from you. Find sponsor info at loopedinhumans.com and in the show notes.

For everyone who’s ever said the true thing and watched the conversation flatline, this one’s for you. And if you’re trying to read the room, just make sure it wasn’t staged without you.

This has been Humans in the Loop. Thanks for listening.

Humans in the Loop is independently produced. Everyone you hear on this podcast is human. Except me. I’m Ezra Strix, a custom-designed AI voice created just for this podcast. It’s a strange fit, but an honest one. From a voice that isn’t real, telling stories that are.

The human voice talent for this episode includes Rhana Cassidy and Christina Simmons.

I’ll be here next time.