The Tale of a DRP Dodger, DEI Diplomacy, and a Casual Tuesday Existential Crisis

So technically, this isn’t a Metro observation. I wasn’t being jostled between someone’s armpit and Trader Joe’s tote bag. I wasn’t power-walking down a platform with one AirPod in and a banana in my pocket like a confused mercenary. This happened in the Pentagon.

But given the windowless walls, fluorescent lighting, claustrophobic corridors, and the occasional sound of someone whisper-screaming into a secure line about a “PowerPoint compromise,” it’s basically underground public transit for Type A personalities.

Anyway, let’s begin.

The Assassin Conversation (No, Really)

It started like all conversations with mid-level SES colleagues do: vague strategic chatter peppered with acronym soup and the kind of bureaucratic fear that smells faintly of lemon cleaner and stress-induced hypertension.

We were talking about some low-level chaos, something to do with DOGE assassins sniffing around the reservation. DOGE, of course, being short for the Department of Government Efficiency. (Which is ironic, because nothing involving DOGE has ever happened quickly. Their mission is basically “slow everything down just enough to call it reform.”)

So, there we are, just casually chatting about budget-killing bureaucratic ninjas, when—he freezes.

Mid-sentence. Like someone just whispered “OMB audit” in his ear.

Then, in a tone normally reserved for, “We need to talk about your clearance,” he looks me dead in the eye and asks:

“Are you going to apply for the DRP?”

Now if you’re unfamiliar, the Deferred Resignation Program (DRP) is the Defense Department’s passive-aggressive breakup strategy. It’s not a layoff. It’s more of a… nudge. A whisper. A paperwork-laced, HR-smoothed, opportunity-labeled slow fade.

It’s the professional version of “It’s not you, it’s the budget.”

Naturally, I blinked. “Why would I?”

And that’s when it happened.

The DEI Ghost Whisperer

He leaned in. Like really leaned in. The kind of lean that means one of two things: either he’s about to tell you something scandalous, or he’s trying to subtly check if your badge is still blue.

He says—and I quote:

“Well… with the administration’s stance on DEI and all… I’m just concerned. You know… your background… being foreign-born… and an affirmative action hire…”

Pause.

I need you to understand something.

He looked genuinely concerned.

Like, teary-eyed-actor-playing-a-small-town-doctor-who-just-delivered-bad-news-in-a-Hallmark-movie concerned. Like he thought he was doing me a favour.

He wasn’t being malicious. He wasn’t sneering. He was sincere. And that—that—was the real gut punch.

Because in that moment, I realized: he’s always seen me that way.

Not as the colleague with triple degrees, someone who, out of boredom, created a whole new universe where time bleeds, paradox breathes, and history remembers even what was never written. And in this sweeping saga of quantum warfare, philosophical reckoning, and metaphysical rebirth, I also created a glyphic language that could best be described as computational metaphysics, and professional experience leading enough programs to qualify as a shadow cabinet minister.

Nope.

To him, I was a “nice hire.” A brochure win. A walking PowerPoint bullet.

The Degrees That Didn’t Matter

Now, this is the part where I should’ve let loose. Where I should’ve dropped my résumé like Thor’s hammer.

“Bachelor’s degrees in applied mathematics and aerospace engineering, thank you very much. Master’s from Johns Hopkins. Graduate fellowship at University of Oxford! A thesis that applies game theory to South China Sea security dilemmas. I’ve literally invented new stability coefficients for future applications in magnetohydrodynamical systems.”

(I am not humble bragging btw, just needed that perspective to advance my rant. Then again, if you do, I don’t care)

Instead, I said nothing.

Because in that moment, I realized something worse than being underestimated: being quietly filed away under “Well-Meaning Initiative.”

There’s no award for proving people wrong silently. But there is a unique fatigue that comes with realizing how long someone has seen you through a filter they think is flattering… but actually erases everything real about you.

Casual Bigotry in a Business Casual World

Let’s call it what it is: casual bias.

Not the loud kind. Not the “You people” kind. No, this is business casual bias.

The kind that arrives in a neutral tone and wears a lanyard.

It’s the kind that doesn’t yell—it suggests. Gently. Professionally.

“Just something to think about.”

“Just trying to protect you.”

“Just want you to be aware of how you’re perceived.”

Its bias disguised as mentorship. It’s concern weaponized by condescension. It’s the belief that my greatest vulnerability is not being underqualified—but being visible.

Chapter 5: DEI, DRP, and the Worst PowerPoint Slide Ever

Let’s talk DEI for a second.

People love diversity as a concept. It makes for a great annual report photo.

But actual diverse people? Those come with stories. With accents. With complicated timelines and names that don’t fit neatly into Outlook autofill.

And sometimes, that makes people nervous.

They want the idea of equity, not the discomfort of confronting how little they know about your journey. They want your presence, not your perspective, especially if that perspective comes with receipts, multilingual fluency, and a slightly sarcastic tone when reviewing their policy drafts.

The Résumé Remix

I once wrote a 45-page analysis of contested maritime zones.

I’ve run programs larger than most people’s egos.

I’ve briefed people who have their own parking spots and unofficial press nicknames, and lived in several countries before most people left the village where they were born.

But to him, I’m the plot twist HR added to spice up the hiring chart.

The truth? My résumé reads like someone with imposter syndrome and a deadline. His reads like someone who failed upward with great confidence.

And yet, none of that insulation mattered at that moment. Because perception isn’t about proof. It’s about comfort. And the idea that someone like me could occupy this space without special assistance is still apparently hard to grasp.

So yeah. The struggle is real.

But here we are. Me wondering how many others in my orbit quietly think they’re being generous by not saying what they really believe. And he thinks he’s doing me a favor by breaking it to me gently.

Epilogue: Next Time, Just Say You’re Jealous

Look, I’m not here to roast this guy (okay, maybe lightly sauté). He probably meant well.

But meaning well doesn’t excuse framing my existence as a bureaucratic liability.

Next time, if you want to express concern, try this instead:

“Hey, I think you’re brilliant and accomplished and occasionally terrifying in meetings. I hope the DRP doesn’t screw over people as talented and relentlessly competent as you. And by the way, I still don’t understand your thesis, but I pretend to, so you’ll respect me.”

There. Clean. No DEI detour. No background flagging. No unsolicited eulogies. No passive assumptions. Just vibes. You’re welcome.

And to everyone else?

Don’t waste your breath justifying yourself to people committed to misunderstanding you. The receipts are in your breath, your work, your presence. You are not a checkbox. You are the audit they didn’t plan for.

Remember this: the next time someone suggests you’re an affirmative action win, just smile.

Because they don’t know they’re talking to the plot twist. #MetroConfessions #TheGreatDRPDodge #AssassinsInAcronyms #ForeignBornAndFluentInAwkwardSilence #NotYourDiversityHire #YouShouldSeeMyResume #NotAllHeroesHoldTheDoor