The Nuclear Compliment
I don’t necessarily believe in ghosts or magic, but I do believe in my friend, Tom. Specifically, I believe Tom has the power to destroy a man’s career with a single, polite sentence.
Six years ago, we were at a high-stakes student robotics competition. We had just arrived, hauling our crates and feeling the pre-game jitters. While we were setting up, Tom decided to take a stroll and "scout the competition."
He stops at a table where this team has built a masterpiece. I’m talking NASA-level engineering. Polished chrome, perfect wiring—the kind of robot that makes yours look like it was built out of trash and prayers.
Tom leans over, genuinely impressed, and says:
"Wow. That is a truly incredible piece of machinery. You guys did a great job."
Exactly 15 seconds later, the lead designer picks up the robot to move it, his hands inexplicably turn into blocks of ice, and the robot takes a swan dive onto the concrete floor. CRUNCH. Pieces flew everywhere. They had to resign on the spot.
I thought, "Okay, tragic coincidence."
Fast forward to the next competition. Tom sees another rival team. Their robot is a beast. Tom, being the nice guy he is, walks over.
"Man, that robot looks sturdy. I love the frame."
Ten minutes later, one of their own teammates literally steps on the robot. Just a full-on, Godzilla-style stomp. Another resignation.
At this point, we didn't see Tom as a friend anymore. We saw him as a Tactical Bio-Weapon. While other teams were checking their batteries and code, we were just pointing Tom toward the top seeds like we were releasing a kraken. "Go on, Tom. Go tell them they have a nice sensor array."
We took first place that year. Was it our engineering? Maybe. Or maybe it was just the fact that Tom "complimented" every other robot into an early grave. If Tom ever tells you your outfit looks nice, run. Don't look back. Just run.