The Most Valuable Commodity
By Steven M Nedeau
(October 2021)
“I don’t pay you to think, Mcgonnel.”
Ellen McGonnel stared at the floor, her eyes focusing occasionally on her manager’s feet.
Sharon crossed her arms as she leaned on her desk. McGonnel had really screwed up this time. An entire line of widgets had been destroyed and the machine she was attending had snapped an actuator arm. It would take two days to repair, costing the company an exorbitant amount of money. Worse than the immediate financial implications were the inevitable hits to the company reputation as a reliable supplier of widgets. This wouldn’t just cost money. This would cost time. And nothing was as valuable as time.
Sharon ducked to look Ellen in the eye. “I don’t see any way around it. You’re fired. You have ten minutes to collect your things and the exit staff will show you out.”
The ‘exit staff’ weren’t exactly staff members. They weren’t what the company would call employees. They did their job, and they did it efficiently. They didn’t think. They didn’t feel. They didn’t beg or bargain. They were metal enforcers of company policy.
The repairs to the machinery would be handled by the maintenance techbot team. Whirring gears and air compressed actuators of the mobile team would fix the whirring gears and air compressed actuators of the stationary machinery.
Sharon watched Ellen leave her office and sat down behind her desk, fingers dancing across the screen. That was one more employee off her list, one more time slot reclaimed, one more reduction to lunch hour pay, two more fifteen minute break periods recovered. Sharon calculated the increase in productivity the company would gain by automating Ellen’s machine.
The calculation for the recovered time would be large this month. Widget output could potentially reach one hundred and five percent, a five percent increase in profitability. She beamed at the numbers in front of her. That promotion was hers for sure. Years of hard work and determination were about to pay off. She was sure of it.
Sharon looked further into her personnel files:
Joseph Welker, terminated.
Randall Jones, terminated.
Darien Mamon, deceased (work accident).
Martha Scontras, terminated.
Sandra Simmons, terminated.
Mark Stanton, terminated.
Ellen McGonnel, terminated.
The exit staff opened the door to Sharon’s office, rolling in on their silent wheels driven by the high pitched whine of their electric motors. Two of them approached her desk while one of them remained in the doorway.
“Report, please,” Sharon said as she tabulated her efficiency gains on the screen in front of her.
“Employee Ellen McGonnel has been escorted off the premises. Key card and fingerprint scans have been updated to refuse future entry.”
“Well done,” Sharon said without looking up. Pressing a record button on her desk, Sharon said, “Note: Make sure to address a replacement techbot for Ellen Mcgonnel’s position.”
As she let go of the button, Sharon heard the sound of a drill and looked up to see the third exit staff member removing the screws to her office door. The metal fasteners fell with a clatter to the floor as the exit staff member took hold of the door to carry it away. Beginning to understand her position, Sharon looked back at the first exit staff member who had addressed her upon entering the office.
“We are here to show you out. You have ten minutes to collect your belongings.”
“They’re letting me go just like that?” She felt a flush of red come to her face. There was no-one left to manage.
Sharon looked back to her screen where the personnel list flashed, indicating a name had been added, hers.
It read: Sharon Mercer, deceased (work accident).