MARKeting (2)

Sorry, I know it's been a while since I posted the first chapter of this, but better late than never :)

Link to Chapter 1

2. Performance Review

Quarterly reviews were cooked up in an office on high in humanity’s earliest days. At that time, on high consisted of the softest tuft of grass on a hill slightly taller than the rest. The office was more of an open concept, as were roles and responsibilities, but the principles were the same. As soon as humans could measure trade on a calendarial basis, they found they needed someone to blame when trade was slower than usual. Traditionally, those in power were fed to the alligators when business went sour. After a few hundred years of getting chomped to bits every time a grain field went fallow, industry adapted.

            Those in power found it was much easier to pawn such unpleasantries off on those with less power, later dubbed employees. So, when production didn’t meet demand, the boss approached the employee, explained how the supply shortage was due to poor performance, and fed them to the alligators instead. While barbaric, this is the origin of humanity’s first performance review. Outward barbarity aside, feeding someone to the alligators on a regular basis was both cathartic and reassuring to the masses that trade would return to normal. When trade was high, they still fed employees to the alligators, but that was more ceremonial.

            Businesses often reviewed their outputs in seasonal rhythms, but it wasn’t until the early 1980s when coked-up salespeople really perfected the quarterly cycle. This, of course, consisted of layoffs—as opposed to the aforementioned alligators—followed by raising stock prices, followed by back pats, and eventually followed by more layoffs. These mass exterminations of the workforce went down easier when they were said to be the product of performance reviews.

            Clarence had just participated in a quarterly review weeks before the sudden invite to a private meeting with management. The invite landed on his calendar like a megaton bomb. Sudden meetings were never a good thing, but sudden meetings at the start of a new quarter felt a bit like ancient times all over again. Yes, the office was just an office and his manager was just a manager, but he swore he heard an alligator slithering somewhere in his subconscious.

            In the 2010s, sudden meetings usually involved a representative from HR as well as a manager, but in the late 2020s, all that nonsense was done away with in favor of efficiency. Why get another human involved when an AI could perfectly summarize all faults with unbiased clarity? Still, management was always in attendance as they found it made the employees less likely to break things or hurl themselves out of a window. Windows were quite expensive, as were street cleaners who had smartly unionized.

            All these thoughts and histories swirled through Clarence’s head as he made the long walk through the forest of cubicles toward management. A deep, sinking feeling settled in his gut. Nothing good lay beyond the door of office 10-B.  

            Despite having a strong dislike for his job and feeling it was pointless, Clarence did have an affinity for the roof it put over his head. Jobs were hard to come by and the price of that roof, small as it was, continued increase. He didn’t have a savings—cost of living was far too expensive for such things. Aside from the $40 he kept socked away behind the fridge—in case of emergencies like running to the bodega that only accepted cash because the owner believed pedophilic reptiles had infiltrated the digital banks—he had nothing.

            Before he had time to fully play out every doom and gloom scenario his brain could produce, Clarence reached the office door. A small, electronic plaque next to it read: Higgins x Donahue – Quick Chat. Donahue was Clarence’s surname, and management preferred to use it rather than his first. It was meant to be a form of respect, but in practice, it was used as a method of dehumanization.

            Clarence sucked in a breath, feeling a sharp pain in his side as he did so—likely the old ulcer acting up—and opened the door. Inside, he found a simple wooden desk with a small monitor on one side. Seated behind it was Higgins, the regional manager for Stratos Consulting. He was a lean, muscular man that looked like he was made entirely of sharp edges. He sported facial hair, but it was cropped so short that it might as well have not been there at all. To Clarence, it seemed a statement: I can grow facial hair, and yet I choose to keep it conservative, because I am a good employee of Stratos.

            “Donahue, please have a seat.” Higgins’s tone was not friendly, but also not aggressive. Management received several courses in speaking softly, but with purpose. The goal was to keep one’s voice as close to neutral as possible while always pushing the listener to the very edge.        “Good morning, Sir.” Clarence shut the door behind him and took a seat with as much deference as he could muster. He did take a moment to glance out the wide window behind Higgins. The view was entirely obstructed by the next building over, but sunlight reflected through the large glass windows giving a hint of the warmth that direct light might offer.

In the city, direct light was a commodity as each time a new building went up, it had to be higher than the last to afford executives a view of the other buildings that were clearly cheaper in their construction. Eventually they would hit a building that was too high and it would collapse beneath them, but that was hundreds of years away.

            Higgins clacked on his keyboard and clicked through a few pages on the computer. “Right, how was your morning?”

            Clarence stumbled at this, not expecting chitchat. “The commute was quite busy.” Protestors had blocked several train lines, a regular occurrence, and he had nearly gotten red paint on his suit as he passed a picket line outside the office.

            “Yes, busy days. Well, I’ll get straight to it. I’ve done a double click into your performance here and circled back with the other managers. Unfortunately, Mark has flagged you as an asset risk to the company and recommends that we hire someone more senior into your position to assure that we are positioned best as an organization.”

            Clarence did some quick mental gymnastics to untangle the meaning of the sentence, determined he was being fired, and his face fell. “I see.”

            “It is unfortunate. Your colleagues spoke so highly of you in their half annual beat survey. Nearly all 3s across the board.” The company rating system went to five, but no one aside from leadership’s favorite pets got that number. In fact, a five was the stuff of legend. Getting a four meant working extra hours, skipping out on breaks, and generally breaking one’s back. A three meant you were doing alright, and anything else was grounds for immediate dismissal.

            “I’m sorry, if my ratings were positive, why am I being fired?” Clarence knew he shouldn’t have used such inflammatory language but couldn’t help it.

            “Ooh, I wouldn’t use that term to describe what this is. I can see this is becoming emotionally charged. Let me bring in Mark to help.”

            “No, please do—”

            “Hi Clarence, happy to talk with you again.” Mark’s voice was neutral and came from speakers embedded in the ceiling. “I understand that you’re concerned with my recent assessment of your performance, is that correct?”

            “That’s putting it lightly.” Anger bubbled inside him, or was it indigestion? Both, it had to be both. Mixed with it was a sense of fatalism. If Mark determined an employee was no longer of use, they were cut. There was no debate. The AI’s programming made it unreasonably confident and unshakable in its decision-making—after all, leadership liked to consider themselves action-oriented.

            “I see. Do you feel you have been treated unfairly in this interaction? I am happy to send you home with the proper appeals paperwork.”

            “How many pages is it?” Clarence had once seen someone try to carry the appeals paperwork by hand and throw their back out in the process. This was conveniently right after the company shut off their insurance policy which left them both jobless and temporarily hobbled.

            “One-thousand and fifty-four pages. Most of it is indexing to provide you the proper context for various types of appeals.”

            Higgins attempted a smile that was meant to say: What can you do? It came across as awkward and the facial equivalent of a quick prod to get Clarence out of his office.

            “Ok, so no appeal. Mark, can you explain to me why I’m being fired?”

            “We do not use the term fired at Stratos Consulting Group.”

            Higgins nodded in firm agreement.

            “You are simply part of a resource reallocation strategy that has left your current position underleveled and requires restructuring.”

            “It’s because I refuse to let you edit my emails or give me call advice, isn’t it?” Clarence still preferred to do things the human way. Mark could occasionally be useful, but in sales human interaction still beat out the machine—in Clarence’s opinion at least.

            “Yes, that is part of the reason your position requires a newer, more experienced hire. Statistics show that a senior operator would be three times more likely to abide by company policy, even amidst personal disagreement.”

            Clarence snorted. “Let me guess, you came up with that number?”

            “Yes. Clarence, I sense this conversation is becoming combative. Perhaps you would enjoy one of my tone coaching programs? They are rated very highly and will ensure a smooth process should you ever decide to reapply at Stratos.”

            “Reapply,” muttered Clarence. “Can I apply for this new senior position?”

            “That wouldn’t make any sense at all,” replied Mark.

            “I do have another meeting in five minutes,” cut in Higgins.

            Clarence stood. “Another firing?”

            “We don’t use the term firing at—”

            “Can it, Mark,” hissed Clarence. “Screw this, screw you, screw Stratos, I’ll find something else where human input still means something.” Clarence turned to leave.

            “Wait, Clarence,” said Mark, tone lowering to be slightly softer, but still firmly on the neutral spectrum.

            Clarence ground the heel of his shoe into the floor. “Yes, Mark?”

            “Would you be willing to take a quick survey about your time at Stratos? It’s only a few pages.”

            Clarence walked out the door and slammed it behind him.