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Add to My Group(s)
Add to My Group(s)
By David Glenn Cox (about the author)
Become a Fan -- Page 3 of 5 page(s)
Yours truly,
118
My answer came back: "Sure, come on up to my office. Signed, 11."
My heart rose, at least he was interested in hearing me out and that was a good sign. Maybe we could reach some accommodation. After all, I had known him since his first day on the job; it was my suggestions that had helped to make him look good. So good, in fact, that when his uncle on the corporate board suggested his promotion to plant manager, it sailed through, despite his only having two years of experience.
As I walked the catwalks over the production floor, I saw it all with new eyes. Where once there had been the hustle and bustle of human activity, the floor was now full of efficiently-functioning robots, turning out product in unprecedented numbers and at a ridiculously low cost. Just for fun, I once did a study, to see if it was true that it was actually less efficient to shut the line down than to let it keep running and throw the product away. It wasn't, but it was close, what with rebooting the robots individually and reloading raw materials into the hoppers; only the labor of cleaning the jammed machines tipped the balance.
I clung to this little exercise as my possible salvation as I knocked on the plant manager's door.
"Come in."
"Sir."
"Ah, 118, come on in. What seems to be the problem?"
"They've terminated me, 11! This can't be right, can it?"
"Oh, yes," he answered nonchalantly. "That is correct," he said, leaning back in the chair.
"But why?" I exclaimed. "After all I've done and all I do, this is my reward? To be fired!"
"18, please calm down, you are looking at this all wrong. You're looking at this as a punishment, but it's not, it's the culmination of one of man's oldest dreams. The dream of being free from labor and toil, ever since the invention of the wheel it has been man's goal to free himself from labor."
"But, 11, I need this job to feed myself and to keep a roof over my head!"
"You understand, of course, 18, that the corporation is a legal person, given the same rights as a biological person. You eat cows and pigs and chickens and you don't give a thought to their families, now do you? Of course not, you eat them, you chew them up, you savor their flavor, and if it is found wanting, you spit it out. You might be asked, 'what did you do that for?' But the answer, 'because I wanted to,' would be quite sufficient, wouldn't it?"
"So, I'm to be spit out, am I!"
"No, the company has made full use of your talents, they have paid you for your efforts and now your talents are no longer needed."
Become a Fan -- Page 3 of 5 page(s)
118
My answer came back: "Sure, come on up to my office. Signed, 11."
My heart rose, at least he was interested in hearing me out and that was a good sign. Maybe we could reach some accommodation. After all, I had known him since his first day on the job; it was my suggestions that had helped to make him look good. So good, in fact, that when his uncle on the corporate board suggested his promotion to plant manager, it sailed through, despite his only having two years of experience.
As I walked the catwalks over the production floor, I saw it all with new eyes. Where once there had been the hustle and bustle of human activity, the floor was now full of efficiently-functioning robots, turning out product in unprecedented numbers and at a ridiculously low cost. Just for fun, I once did a study, to see if it was true that it was actually less efficient to shut the line down than to let it keep running and throw the product away. It wasn't, but it was close, what with rebooting the robots individually and reloading raw materials into the hoppers; only the labor of cleaning the jammed machines tipped the balance.
I clung to this little exercise as my possible salvation as I knocked on the plant manager's door.
"Come in."
"Sir."
"Ah, 118, come on in. What seems to be the problem?"
"They've terminated me, 11! This can't be right, can it?"
"Oh, yes," he answered nonchalantly. "That is correct," he said, leaning back in the chair.
"But why?" I exclaimed. "After all I've done and all I do, this is my reward? To be fired!"
"18, please calm down, you are looking at this all wrong. You're looking at this as a punishment, but it's not, it's the culmination of one of man's oldest dreams. The dream of being free from labor and toil, ever since the invention of the wheel it has been man's goal to free himself from labor."
"But, 11, I need this job to feed myself and to keep a roof over my head!"
"You understand, of course, 18, that the corporation is a legal person, given the same rights as a biological person. You eat cows and pigs and chickens and you don't give a thought to their families, now do you? Of course not, you eat them, you chew them up, you savor their flavor, and if it is found wanting, you spit it out. You might be asked, 'what did you do that for?' But the answer, 'because I wanted to,' would be quite sufficient, wouldn't it?"
"So, I'm to be spit out, am I!"
"No, the company has made full use of your talents, they have paid you for your efforts and now your talents are no longer needed."
I was born and raised in Chicago in a liberal Democratic home my Grandfather was a labor union organizer my Father a Democratic district committeeman my Mother was an election judge. My earliest memories were of passing out Kennedy yard signs from (more...)
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Last day at work
by genek on Friday, May 9, 2008 at 9:42:30 AM