What’s the best emoji to say you hate your coworker?

If there was nostalgia for anger, it would be nostalgia for a time when people fought loudly – ​​even in a formal setting like the office. They vented, cursed, rolled their eyes theatrically. Now, workplace rage is quieter, often contained in the click-click of a hastily typed note in Slack, the messaging software used by many companies.

Take Ani Rodriguez, 24, who works in public relations. At her previous company, she had an autoresponder for professional slip-ups: She would screenshot the offending message and send it to a co-worker with comments like “OMG” or “WTF” [siglas em inglês de “Oh meu Deus” ou “Que p*rra é essa?”]🇧🇷

Earlier this year, Rodriguez made a tactical error. His boss had texted him asking why a task had not been completed, an oversight Rodriguez felt was not his fault. Rodriguez took a screenshot. But he accidentally sent it back to the boss.

“It was a disaster,” she said.

Conditions are right for a workplace disaster this year. Many teammates haven’t seen each other in person since 2020. Their professional relationships have strained, but the hard work continues. At the same time, they are reading the news about constant crises – layoffs, inflation, corporate failures.

Then things get confusing. People explode with colleagues they’ve never met in person and find it easier to demonize an “impersonal” Slack account than to lose their composure with someone face-to-face. Entire battles can be fought between Catwoman and Squirrel avatars. Workers receive angry messages and, instead of chatting, respond with an incomplete rebuttal.

We are living in the era of Slack rage.

“People get dopamine boosts from saying negative things,” said Tessa West, a psychologist at New York University and author of “Jerks at Work” [Idiotas no trabalho]🇧🇷 “The reward is stronger and more immediate than the cost.”

With more than a third of American workers still partially remote and millions of them relying on Slack, it’s clear that many conversations between colleagues — including fights — are now confined to online platforms, even more so than before the pandemic when such tools were already commonplace. in the workplace.

Anil Dash, a blogger and executive who is the head of collaboration platform Glitch, has noticed that at companies whose Slack channels he has joined, people discuss more freely than they do in the office. They have broad conversations about serious issues like politics and tech ethics, or light topics like snacks. A lot of it ends up heating up.

“It can look like, ‘Well, I’m on my phone or I’m on my laptop; this is where I go to fight people,'” he said. “You have this tool that mimics the public social network, and so people’s behavior mimics the public social network, even though it’s sold and used as a collaboration tool.”

Some parts of Slack’s design can be refreshing for workers: It bends the power dynamics of professional conflict, allowing people to share their opinions in public channels, with the support of teammates, rather than behind closed doors.

“Slack is very different from most tools used in the workplace,” said Dash.

“It’s intentionally very flat,” he said, meaning anyone can easily message each other and voice their opinions. Hierarchies at least feel less important than in a physical conference room, which can make employees feel more comfortable offering criticism.

You cannot go online

Slack fights are brewing in a workplace already plagued by mental health strain. Employees have to deal with all the stress of their work relationships without more lighthearted, personal moments to offset the strain: the silly jokes, the lunch breaks, the bathroom whispers.

Brad Smallwood, a San Francisco therapist who often supports people in professional disagreements, has seen his patients’ stress levels rise as they get deeper into collaborating with co-workers they haven’t seen in person in nearly three years.

“I come from a traditional workplace, and when you have a conflict with someone, you stop by the office and say, ‘Can we go for a walk?'” said Smallwood, 43. “For a lot of people, that’s not a reality anymore. “

Liane Davey, 50, an organizational psychologist, was taking a digital course earlier this year, and one of her colleagues said on Slack that she wanted to “steal” Davey’s idea. She may have meant it as a compliment, but without the benefit of body language or tone of voice, Davey said, she initially took the message as gleefully unsympathetic.

“I had this huge reaction: ‘What do you mean, you’re going to steal her from me?'” she said.

When deadlines are looming, people don’t always remember to defuse their outbursts with apologies. Alison Weissbrot, an editor, noticed that the tone of her team’s messages grew harsher as they tackled a series of assignments for New York’s publicity week. Even with the accumulation of assignments, it was expected that the answers would come immediately. She experienced the feeling of body dread caused by a message like, “Hello? May I have an update?”

“My stomach felt like dropping. My heart started beating fast,” she said. “I’m like, ‘Oh my God, my head is going to fall off’.”

Weissbrot, 30, tried to lighten the mood with emojis. “I know this is ridiculous and cancelled, but I love the crying and laughing emoji,” she said. “I also love the teeth-grinding thing. When I make a mistake, I’m like, ‘Oops,’ with my teeth clenched.”

Others are circumventing conflict the old-fashioned way — by picking up the phone. “If someone has exchanged emails or Slacks a few times and they’re not connecting, I’d get out of that scheme,” Davey said. “Get out of the death spiral.”

Translated by Luiz Roberto M. Gonçalves