The Consent Form Trap: Sign to Be Fired, or Decline to Be Fired

📊 This post: 8,664 views | Updated: Dec 28, 2025 11:23

Two days ago, I hit "publish" on a blog post.

Scared. Alone. Wondering if anyone would even read it.

This morning? I'm walking into the realm with 8,000+ views and an army behind me.

Let me tell you what that feels like.

The commute: Metro. Parking garage. The walk to King's Landing. Every step wondering if today's the day they figure it out.

The office: Every "good morning" is now loaded. Every smile could mean "I know it's you" or "thank you for writing this" or just "good morning." I can't tell anymore.

Break room buzzing. People on phones. That particular energy when everyone's discussing something they're not supposed to discuss.

I grabbed my coffee. Tried to look casual. Failed miserably.

Because here's the thing about going viral inside your own realm: you're simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.

Terrified because somewhere, the Sultan-R2-S3 is probably hunting for me. Or maybe he's tasked his Storm Troopers with the search.

(Yes, I know—people think I'm obsessed with the Sultan. Here's the reality: I worked on his team once. I know him inside out. Not obsessed. Just informed.)

Though let's be honest—if the Sultan was truly tech-savvy, he'd have written a complex AI program to track me down by now.

Oh wait.

He never wrote a single line of code.

He's an English Major.

The irony of an English Major leading an IT unit in Westeros is not lost on me. Bravo. Truly inspired hiring.

But here's what actually keeps me going every morning:

You.

8,000+ views across these posts. 70+ have commented. Hundreds have shared it. People from across departments, locations, units, positions—all saying the same thing:

"Finally, someone said it."

I didn't start this blog because I'm worried about my job security.

I started it because I fell in love with this place once. With the work. With the mission. With the people trying to do good in the world.

And I can't stand watching incompetent leadership rip it apart.

So this post isn't just about me anymore.

This is about us.

And today, we're talking about the thing that has every single one of us terrified:

The Skills Assessment Test. And that consent form they want you to sign.

Let me tell you everything they're not telling you.

The Consent Form: Choose Your Elimination Method

Here's what's coming your way:

A piece of paper. Maybe an email. Probably both.

And here's the brilliant part: they're calling it a "choice."

Option A: Sign the consent form

• Take the assessment
• Fail twice = terminated
• Pass = you're safe (for now—no one knows if this becomes recurring)
• Mapped to your Job Architecture role (which nobody understands)
• Pick the wrong role = you're tested on wrong skills = you fail = you're done

Option B: Decline the consent form

• Declared "redundant"
• Terminated anyway

Let me repeat that for clarity:

Sign = potential termination after two failures (or picking wrong role)

Don't sign = immediate termination as "redundant"

It's not a choice. It's "pick how you'd like to be eliminated."

Like asking: "Would you prefer to be pushed off the cliff or jump voluntarily?"

Either way, you're going over the edge.

And here's what they're NOT telling you:

• What's on the assessment
• What the passing score is
• What "skills" are being tested for each role
• When it happens
• How it's graded
• Who grades it
• Whether this becomes recurring
• Whether you can appeal
• Whether your years of excellent performance reviews count for anything
• What happens if you pick the "wrong" Job Architecture role

That last one is critical.

Job Architecture—you know, that initiative that changes every other week where the spokesperson comes to meetings without answers?

You're supposed to select your role. Each role has different skill requirements.

Pick wrong? You're tested on skills you don't have. Fail. Terminated.

Pick right? You're tested on skills you DO have. Pass once, and then... what? Do we do this again next year? Nobody knows.

They want you to consent to:

• Termination conditions for a test you haven't seen
• Measuring criteria they haven't shared
• Standards they haven't defined
• A role selection you don't understand
• Potentially recurring assessments (they won't say)
• OR accept being called "redundant" and terminated immediately

Let me put this in perspective:

It's like signing a surgical consent form before the doctor tells you which organ they're removing.

"Don't worry, we'll figure out if it's your kidney or your liver once you're under anesthesia. But you need to sign now. Today. No questions. Oh, and we might need to operate again later. Or not. We'll decide. But if you don't sign, we'll just declare you medically unfit anyway."

Would you sign that?

Then why are we even considering this?

What the Assessment Actually Measures (Spoiler: Not What Matters)

I've been here long enough to know what makes someone valuable in this organization.

It's not whether you can solve a HackerEarth coding challenge.

It's whether you know that when the VP's pet project breaks on a Friday at 4 PM, you call Raj in the Citadel—not the service desk—because Raj has been supporting that application for years and knows exactly which config file is corrupt and which approval chain to bypass.

It's whether you understand that Maria in Architecture knows which budget has flex this quarter and which stakeholder will approve an "impossible" request if you frame it the right way.

It's whether you've built enough trust with the business teams that they'll tell you what they actually need instead of what the requirements document says they need.

It's whether you know how things work versus how they're supposed to work.

This is institutional knowledge.

This is relationship capital.

This is years—sometimes decades—of learning this organization's unwritten rules, building bridges across silos, and delivering solutions that actually get used.

And a two-attempt exam will measure exactly none of it.

Whether you've been here 5 years or 25. Whether you're early in your career or approaching retirement. Whether you joined last year or were here before the God-Mother arrived.

The assessment treats you all the same: prove yourself in two attempts, or leave.

Your track record doesn't matter. Your context doesn't matter. Your contributions don't matter.

Just the test.

What WILL the assessment measure?

Whether you can answer theoretical questions designed by consultants who've never worked here, optimized by an algorithm that doesn't understand context, validated by leadership that couldn't pass it themselves.

Let me be very clear about what's happening:

They're giving pilots an automotive engineering exam and calling it a skills assessment.

Sure, both involve vehicles. Both require technical knowledge. But if your pilot passes a test on car engines, are you getting on that plane?

I'm not.

The Two-Stage Elimination (That We Know Of)

Let me tell you what I believe is actually happening here.

And colleagues—I'm not speculating wildly. I'm putting together pieces from multiple reliable sources. Including some of you who've commented. Including some of you who've reached out privately.

Stage 1: Redundancy Identification (Happening RIGHT NOW)

Directors and managers are being asked—quietly, individually, behind closed doors—to identify "redundant" staff.

Who can we let go without too much disruption?

Who's "not aligned with the transformation vision"?

Who's been here too long and costs too much?

They're finalizing lists. They're discussing smaller severance packages.

If you're on those lists, know this: We're with you. All of us. We stand with you.

You didn't become redundant. You became inconvenient.

Let me tell you what redundant actually means here.

The Prince of Persia:

• Asked questions in meetings
• Challenged approaches
• Thought independently
• Result: Farewell party. Laughing Buddha showed up. God-Mother didn't.
• Status: Gone.

The Night's Watch:

• Ran Office of Information Security for years
• Had 4 units. Re-org cut him to 2 units
• Performed even BETTER with reduced scope
• Result: Didn't get job for his own department. Retired outsider did.
• Status: Sent to the Wall to take the Black.

One questioned too much. One performed too well.

Both eliminated.

Redundant.

Stage 2: Skills Assessment Culling (Coming Next)

Everyone who survives Stage 1 gets the assessment.

Pass? You're safe. For now. Until they decide what comes next.

Fail twice? Here's your package. Thanks for your service. We're going in a different direction.

And if you think I'm being paranoid, answer me this:

Why are directors and VPs excluded from the assessment?

If skills matter so much—if years of performance reviews aren't enough—shouldn't our leaders prove their competence first?

Or is competence only required from the people who actually do the work?

The Sultan-R2-S3—English Major, never wrote code, rejected twice, third-choice selection, still here somehow—isn't taking any assessment.

But you? With your years maintaining critical infrastructure—whether that's 5 or 25?

Yeah, you need to prove you're qualified.

Makes perfect sense.

To My Colleagues in the Citadel: You're Next

I need to be very direct with you.

If you're hearing that workforce reduction is only planned for King's Landing, you're being misled.

Reduction is planned for the Citadel too. Not as extensive, but it's coming.

They've already identified people.

Distance won't save you. Time zones won't protect you.

We're the test case. You're watching the preview.

Watch what happens to us. Learn from it. Prepare.

To the Entire Realm: This is Just the Beginning

And to everyone beyond our VPU who's reading this:

Redundancy identification. Skills assessments. Consent forms.

This is coming for the entire realm.

We're just the pilot program.

If it works on ITS—the technical unit, where you'd think skills assessment might make sense—it'll spread everywhere.

Finance. Operations. Legal. HR itself.

Nobody is safe.

The transformation is eternal, remember?

Why This is Morally Wrong

Let me be very clear about why the Skills Assessment—and especially that consent form—is fundamentally wrong.

1. Post-Hire Testing Violates the Employment Contract

When they hired you, they assessed your skills. They made an offer. You accepted.

That was the contract: "You have the skills we need."

Now, years later, they're saying: "Prove it again. Or leave."

You never signed up for ongoing skills testing as a condition of continued employment.

In most contexts, that's called breach of contract. Here, it's called "transformation."

2. Experience and Performance Reviews Mean Nothing

You've had years of performance reviews—some of you have decades of them.

Excellent ratings. Promotions. Increased responsibilities. Successful projects.

And now? None of that matters.

An algorithm that doesn't know you will determine your fate in two attempts.

Your entire career becomes irrelevant if you have a bad day twice.

3. The Assessment Doesn't Measure Actual Job Performance

Institutional knowledge, relationship capital, business acumen, problem-solving in context—none of this is tested.

You could be the best performer in your unit and fail the assessment.

You could be mediocre at your actual job and ace the test.

They're not measuring job performance. They're measuring test-taking ability.

4. Leadership Exempts Itself

If skills assessment is so critical, why don't directors and VPs take it?

The fact that leadership exempts itself tells you this isn't about skills. It's about control.

5. Two Attempts is Arbitrary and Cruel

Why two attempts? Why not three? Why not five?

Why is your entire career—whether that's 3 years or 30—ended after two bad performances on a test that doesn't measure your actual work?

It's arbitrary. Capricious. Designed to create fear, not assess competence.

6. Other Companies Have Tried This

IBM did it in 2020. Mass layoffs followed. Discrimination lawsuits followed those.

Amazon does it with PIP culture. High turnover. Legal challenges. Bad press.

Microsoft did it with stack ranking. Famously toxic. Eventually abandoned.

Every company that's tried this has faced backlash and eventually reversed course.

But not before destroying morale and losing institutional knowledge.

Is that what we want for Westeros?

To My Colleagues: We Are United

This is where I need you.

8,000+ views means thousands of us have seen this. Hundreds have shared it. Dozens have commented.

But we need to show it. Visibly. Collectively.

1. Comment - Even if it's just "I agree." When leadership sees this, they need to see we're a collective voice.

2. Share Your Story - Google Form for anonymous submissions in the comments. Tell me what you've seen, what's not fair, how you've been affected.

3. Share the Blog - One more colleague who needs to see this. That person in their 27th month of Acting. That colleague scared about the consent form.

4. Engage - Thumbs up. React. Anything. Make your presence known.

As Edmund Burke said: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

We've been doing nothing for 29 months.

Time to do something. Even if it's just a comment on a blog.

What We're Actually Asking For

I'm not anti-transformation. I'm not resistant to change. I'm not afraid of assessments.

But I'm asking for fairness. Transparency. Respect.

Give us clarity:

• What's on the assessment
• What the passing criteria are
• How it relates to actual job performance
• Why leadership is exempt
• How appeals work

Give us fairness:

• Transparent process
• Clear standards
• Right to appeal
• Leadership accountability

Give us respect:

• Treat us like professionals who've earned trust
• Value institutional knowledge, not just test scores
• Acknowledge that years of proven performance matter
• Stop changing employment terms retroactively

Until then: I'm not signing.

And I'm not alone.

Thousands across the realm agree.

We're watching. We're documenting. We're finding our voice.

The God-Mother thought she could shake this place quietly.

Turns out, we shake back.

P.S. — To the Old Guard who won't sign: you're still my hero. To everyone facing Stage 1 redundancy: we stand with you. ALL of us.

P.P.S. — To colleagues in the Citadel: it's coming for you too. To colleagues in other VPUs: you're next. This is the pilot program.

P.P.P.S. — Google Form for anonymous stories in the comments. Share what you've seen. Make your voice heard. https://forms.gle/27g3afmpmNAf1pkE7