My AI Assistant Helped Me "Stand Out" in Meetings by Suggesting I Use Medieval English

The Corporate Invisibility Problem

Three months into my new role at MegaCorp Industries, I was struggling with a common problem: nobody remembered who I was. In a sea of khakis and button-downs, my contributions in meetings were met with blank stares and the occasional, "Sorry, can you remind me which department you're from again?"

Something needed to change. I needed to make an impression.

The AI Suggestion That Changed Everything

Late one night, after another day of being mistaken for an intern (I'm 42), I asked my AI assistant for advice:

How can I stand out in corporate meetings and make people remember my contributions?

The AI offered several standard suggestions: speak with confidence, use visual aids, follow up with emails summarizing my points. But then, at the end of the list, was suggestion #7:

"Consider adopting a unique linguistic style. Historical speech patterns like Shakespearean or Medieval English can create a memorable impression in the right context, used sparingly for emphasis."

I laughed at first. But then I thought, why not? Nothing else was working. I asked the AI to provide me with some business-appropriate medieval phrases I could casually incorporate into my next meeting.

My First Foray Into Corporate Time Travel

The next morning was our weekly project status meeting. When asked about my team's progress, I cleared my throat and began:

"Verily, I bring tidings most excellent regarding the Anderson account. Lo, we have vanquished the database migration issues that did plague us most grievously. Henceforth, we shall proceed according to the timeline as foretold in the sacred scrolls of our Gantt chart." 111 222

The room went silent. The project manager's mouth hung slightly open. The VP of Operations stopped scrolling on his phone and looked up.

I had their attention.

The Unexpected Consequences

To my surprise, instead of mockery, my medieval speech was met with fascination. The CEO, who had never spoken to me directly before, actually laughed and then asked a follow-up question about the database migration.

Emboldened by this success, I continued my linguistic time travel in subsequent meetings, gradually increasing the complexity and archaic nature of my vocabulary.

Some highlights included:

• Describing a competitor's product as "a most foul contrivance, crafted by knaves and jesters"
• Referring to our quarterly goals as "the sacred quests bestowed upon us by the Council of Directors"
• Calling the IT helpdesk "the Wizards of the North Tower"
• Describing budget constraints as "the royal treasury's most stringent decrees"

From Office Oddity to Corporate Legend

Within weeks, my medieval persona had transformed my workplace status. Some unexpected developments:

1. Meeting Invitations Multiplied

Suddenly, I was being invited to meetings that were well above my pay grade. When I asked a colleague why, she explained: "They said, 'Make sure to invite that medieval guy from marketing. His updates are the only ones anyone pays attention to.'"

2. The CEO Became My Champion

After I described our main competitor's new product launch as "a paltry attempt to usurp our rightful kingdom with naught but smoke, mirrors, and the tears of disappointed customers," our CEO became my biggest fan.

"I need more reports written like this," he announced to the leadership team. "Why can't all of you explain things as clearly?"

3. My Performance Review Took an Unusual Turn

My direct manager began my performance review with: "I'm not entirely sure how to say this, but your, um, unique communication style has been noted by leadership as... refreshing."

She slid a piece of paper across the desk showing a 15% salary increase.

"The executive team feels you're 'enhancing company culture' and 'bringing authenticity to corporate communications.'"

When Medieval English Goes Too Far

Like any successful strategy, there's always a risk of overplaying your hand. I discovered this during an important client meeting.

The client, a conservative financial institution, was not prepared when I greeted their CEO with:

"Hail, noble lord of the Financial Realm! May thy profits be plentiful and thy regulatory complications few!"

After that incident, my manager gently suggested I "dial back the Renaissance Faire vibe with external stakeholders."

The Medieval-to-Modern Dictionary

To help colleagues understand my more elaborate pronouncements, the marketing team created a "Medieval Mike's Meeting Translator" (yes, they'd given me a nickname) that hung in the conference room:

Linguistic Competition Emerges

Success breeds imitation. By month three, I was no longer the only one with a distinctive speaking style:

• Janet from accounting had adopted what she called "Film Noir Narration" for her financial reports
• The IT department began explaining technical issues exclusively through 90s hip-hop references
• A junior analyst was experimenting with communicating entirely in haiku

Lessons Learned

This strange experiment taught me several valuable lessons about workplace dynamics:

1. Memorability matters - People can't appreciate your contributions if they don't remember who you are
2. Authenticity can take unusual forms - Sometimes embracing your weirdness is more authentic than fitting in
3. Entertainment has value - Making boring content engaging is a genuine workplace skill
4. Know your audience - What works in internal meetings may not work with external stakeholders
5. Any gimmick has a shelf life - Even the most charming quirk becomes annoying if overused

"In the realm of corporate tedium, a dash of unexpected wit doth shine like a beacon in darkest night. But prithee, use such powers wisely."

The New Normal

Six months in, my medieval speaking style has evolved from a gimmick to simply part of who I am at the office. I've toned it down to just a phrase or two per meeting—enough to maintain my brand without becoming a caricature.

My team now ends emails with "Fare thee well," the CEO occasionally greets me with "Hail, noble analyst," and I've been asked to emcee the company holiday party as "Lord Michael of Data Sciences."

As for my AI assistant who started this whole adventure? I've instructed it to help me study actual Middle English literature so I can be more historically accurate in my corporate time-traveling.

Verily, 'tis a strange path to professional recognition, but one that hath served me well. I shall continue to embrace this peculiar destiny until management doth request otherwise.

Until then, I bid thee good fortune with thine own workplace challenges.