2084: Slavery Resurgent

“If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.” - 16th century English adage

When Franklin received a text message ordering him to report to the main office after completing his shift, he thought he was going to be laid off. Having walked fourteen blocks to the main office, he arrived tired, hungry, and disheveled. His supervisor, Hiram Nasov, had a corner office on the 12th floor of the Sanz Building. Lightly knocking on the door with the second knuckle of his right hand, Franklin pushed down on a lever and barged in without waiting for Hiram to give him a go-ahead. It was just as well, because his supervisor was busy talking to somebody on a cellphone.

“I ordered 50 gallons of pine oil disinfectant, not some watered down, sweet-smelling cleanser. Of the twenty-nine ingredients listed on the labels, it says nothing about pine oil.”

(long pause)

“There is no substitute for pine oil. It cleans while killing germs and insects. One client complained that his office was infested with crickets. Another said he personally saw a roach fly down from the ceiling onto the floor when he turned on the lights one night. You made us look bad.”

(short pause)

“Your mistake, not ours. You have to pay for shipping it back.”

Hiram’s face was flushed and the veins in his neck stood out, but his tone remained level, never betraying the anger he was obviously feeling. Franklin slumped into a pink fiberglass chair. He was tired from working a ten hour shift. Hearing one end of a two-way conversation was frustrating. To keep from nodding off he focused his mind on listing prime numbers: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23....

(intermediate pause)

“It is your responsibility to make it right. I desperately need the 50 gallons of pine oil I ordered from your company nine weeks ago. Either I receive it by Monday or I will find a company that is morally opposed to ‘bait and switch’ and fills orders on time.”

With that, Hiram ended the phone call by tossing his cellphone at the hologram of a clock that was being projected halfway up a decorative pillar in back of his desk. Having been made from a graphite fiber composite that was virtually indestructible, the cellphone’s cover was not even scratched.

Franklin hastened to retrieve the cellphone and return it to his boss, saying, “If you are busy, I can come back tomorrow.”

“Have a seat,” said Hiram, pointing towards the pink fiberglass chair. Rubbing his forehead with the palm of his right hand, he remonstrated, “today, tomorrow, next Tuesday, two years from now – it won’t make any difference. The stress never ceases.”

Franklin wasn’t sure what to say, but he had to say something, so he ventured, “You’re replacing me with an automaton; isn’t that what you summoned me here to tell me?”

“All our janitors are being replaced by automatons; all but one, that is. You are being promoted to manager. Somebody has to train the automatons.”

“Why me? I despise automatons. Besides, I don’t know how to program a computer, much less an automaton.”

“I have never had a complaint from a client about you. You do not cause problems for the company. You have a degree, you belong in management. Nobody likes automatons. For Christ’s sake, it’s a job. Would you rather be unemployed? You simply show them how to clean an office – monkey see, monkey do,” Hiram gesticulated pushing a broom. “Leave the programming to the technicians.”

“What happens when there are no more automatons to train?,” asked Franklin. “It’s not as if there will be an endless supply of automatons. Sooner or later the company will be laying me off or firing me.”

“It is not that way in management. Keep doing a good job and the company will keep promoting you. Who knows? Corporate might transfer you to San Francisco or Sacramento. Play your cards right and you could wind up as CEO with a million dollar home and a trophy wife. Quit focusing on the dark side. Life is short, enjoy it while you can.”

“Is this promotion simply a fancy title change or am I going to be making more money? I’ve got bills to pay and I am sick and tired of riding a hoverbus to work.”

“Your starting salary will be twice your current wage. Purchase a new hovercar. And while you are at it, buy yourself a decent wardrobe. You start Monday. Pointing towards the door, Hiram remarked, “Now, get out of here. I have work to do. Text me if you run into any problems.”

“Do I need to wear a suit and tie to work? The automatons will be impressed,” Franklin sarcastically commented.

“What do you think? Managers are paid to think. Go, and don’t slam the door on your way out!,” Hiram erupted.