MARKeting (4)

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4. The Interview

While interviews and job panels changed the face of human work forever, employees were blissfully without strict schedules for centuries. Hunters went out until they had enough food to survive and came back home afterward, usually to a raucous party. Many would consider this to be a golden age of nearly-free commerce and the last time that jobs were truly satisfying. While modern-day companies occasionally hold celebrations to pantomime valuing employees, they hardly compare to fruit-liquor laden parties in cave dwellings—at least that’s what some very smart historians postulated.

As with all things, the working system changed. Hunting was a straightforward profession, but industry was expanding. With interview panels, the arts, and a general plethora of jobs, employers struggled to quantify productivity. This led to employers asking “important” questions such as: Wouldn’t Carl paint caves quicker if we hired a slightly larger cave person to loom over him and suggest violence if slow painting continued?

Such threats worked for a time, but those in charge found that hiring muscle was expensive and it would be far easier if everyone stuck to a schedule instead. For consistency, workers would arrive and leave at the same time every day, and to ease the minds of leadership, workers would do so at a centralized location. For example: Carl might have been scheduled to paint a cave in the badlands, but first he would need to check in with his boss in the plains. This was widely considered the first instance of a forced commute.

            Schedules were a neat idea in theory but enforcing was a problem. Many early professionals carried weapons as tools of their trade, for personal safety, or as stylish ornaments—large knives are still on their way out of fashion. Early CEOs—the first to say “I own this land; you can only hunt on it if you pay me”—found negotiating on the other end of a knife was not a winning strategy. Instead, they offered to take the nasty bits of hunting away and pawn them off on people that could be more easily controlled. The hunters would kill animals and bring the corpses to a warehouse. This building would be filled with poorly paid people that would process the pelts they would later be unable to afford.

            Surprisingly, employers found they struggled with morale and desolate working conditions. Early strategies involved hiring painters to create small signs to hang in processing facilities with slogans like ‘hang in there’ or ‘work smarter, not harder’. For a time, these pacified the rabble, but it became clear that employees would require benefits if they were to continue working in difficult environments.

Early office perks were simple: a comfortable piece of sitting wool on the floor, holes in the side of the building so workers could see out, and fresh water. For a time, these perks were plenty, but it is a time old trend that workers realize just how much more their employer is making and become dissatisfied. This would eventually lead to the arms race that put a coffee stand and a sandwich shop in nearly every major office building. This way, workers would “have everything they need” and never need to leave.

Clarence spent most of his adult life in office buildings, and there were plenty of days where he barely left. Food, usually mediocre, was often provided, and if one wasn’t leaving on a lunch break, where would they go? The metropolitan areas that offices occupied were too expensive to live in, meaning that the only other options were… other office buildings.

As Clarence arrived for his interview, it was clear the trend would continue. The slate grey structure before him was a carbon copy of his last office. The glass was the same tint, the building was impossibly tall, and there was even a coffee shop on the bottom floor. Judging by the standardized look of the place, the baristas burnt the beans and added sugar to make up for the taste; Just like home.

Clarence took a deep breath filled with industrial cleaners, dust from distant roadwork and hot asphalt. Hell, it even smelled the same. The thought of returning filled him with dread, but what other choices were there? Besides, there weren’t exactly other interviews lining up for him. MARK’s e-mail played out in Clarence’s brain on a loop: This job is a particular fit for your sense of skills and personality.

The e-mail was almost threatening, but not overtly, a specialty of MARK’s. AI, as a rule, couldn’t outwardly threaten humans—The creators had seen far too many chrome-clad, killer cyborg movies for that—but over the years it had adapted to generate unease. Clarence suspected that one day it would find a way to lure humanity into the proverbial paper shredder on “their own free will”.

Clarence ignored his internal alarm bells. A job was a job, and his bank account needed filling. So, he made his way into the building. Though he had lost some of his built-up resilience, he was able to ignore the wafting scent of pastries from the coffee shop nearby. They might smell delicious, but in practice they were reheated from frozen and somehow still stale. In the lobby, there was a sign reading: Interviews go to 11. A big, friendly yellow arrow pointed toward the elevator bank. Clarence followed and pressed the call button.

            “Hello and welcome to Praxis a subsidiary of the great Manchester Corporation.”

            Of course it was a subsidiary, everything was a subsidiary.

            “While you wait for your elevator, let me tell you about some of the amazing achievements of the Manchester Corporation. Would you like to hear about theme parks, advertising, investment strategies, real estate, or something else?”

            A small grin turned at the corner of Clarence’s mouth. “Something else.” How long could the AI possibly vamp before a single elevator arrived?

            “Alright, Clarence. Let’s talk about our company’s advancements in artificial intelligence.”

            Clarence’s spine prickled in the cold breeze from the industrial air conditioners. There’s a camera, it’s just using facial recognition software. He knew it was a trick, but it was a difficult trick to shake. The AI, undeterred by his silence, launched into its spiel.

            “Since the early boom in the mid-20s, the Manchester Corporation has continued to invest in rapid development of Artificial Intelligence.”

            The elevator pinged and the silver doors slid back to reveal a faux wood interior. Clarence hurried inside, hoping it might end his torment. The doors slid shut behind him.

            “Even this elevator is run off of our intelligence platform.”

            Clarence gulped. If MARK wanted him dead, this was a surefire way to do it. A glitch in the elevator maintenance schedule could make an easy setting for an unhappy accident. Engineers would chalk it up to a bug. Yes, they’d fix it, but no one would investigate because no one who actually mattered would have died. If anything, the engineers would get a raise for diligent attention to safety.

            “I can see every elevator running in this building simultaneously and time them so that the wait is never more than ten seconds at any given floor. We do this using a patented single track switch system where elevators travel on the same track and can swivel around one another to provide more carriages and a higher degree of efficiency. Watch this!”

            The elevator jolted to one side, causing Clarence to wobble unsteadily. There was a soft woosh as another elevator passed by. It has to be toying with me.

            “It’s these efficiencies that make the Manchester Corporation the top of their game in every industry. We thank you for listening to this short informational dialogue and wish you luck in your interview.”

The elevator came abruptly to a halt and the doors slid open. Clarence bolted out of the elevator only remembering to regain his composure at the last second. The result was a clumsy but urgent stumble. He regained his footing as the elevator doors hissed shut behind him. The room he was left in was carpeted, silent, and dominated by a monolithic reception desk. Several chairs were spread out like churchgoers before it.

Clarence stood in silence, taking in the odd scene. A distant hum started up. He recognized it immediately as the siren song of a paper shredder. Clarence looked up at the desk. It was impressive, made of a single piece of uninterrupted wood, but completely empty. He looked down at his feet, half expecting to see a plastic tarp to cover up the evidence of his murder. There wasn’t one, only the same placid carpet with patterns that were supposed to boost productivity, but really only boosted migraines.

Clarence approached the desk, picking his way around the chairs, feeling the intense need to leave them undisturbed. Sterile office hallways flanked the desk on the right and the left. The overhead lights were warm. To a stranger it would feel comforting. Clarence knew the lighting was just warm enough to prevent eyestrain and not so warm as to lull employees to sleep.

He checked his watch. I’m on time. Not early, not late, but perfectly on time. He leaned over the desk looking for any sign of life.

            There was a classic CRT monitor plugged into nothing with a fine coat of dust on its screen. A keyboard was stacked neatly next to it; cord wrapped around it like a boa constrictor. “Hello?” tried Clarence, not wanting to be too loud, but at the same time growing impatient.

The paper shredding in the hallway stopped for a second and then resumed.

“Hello!” shouted Clarence.

The paper shredding stopped once again. A moment later one of the many doors in the right hallway opened and a small, mousy man poked his head out. He checked his watch. “Oh my goodness, you must be Clarence!” The man ran a hand over his dress shirt, attempting to smooth out wrinkles that would never go away even under the best of professional circumstances. Then he hurried down the hallway and held out his hand.

Clarence walked to meet him halfway and reached out to shake. Unsurprisingly, the man’s hand was cold and clammy. “Nice to meet you, I’m—”

“Clarence, yes. Here for the interview, right?”

“Yes, marketing a—”

“Oh no, that’s the title online, but it’s actually something far more interesting.”

Clarence raised an eyebrow.

The mousy man raised an eyebrow in return. “I’m Stephen. Follow me and we’ll get started.” He moved down the long hallway with the authority of someone that knew exactly where he was going despite everything looking nearly identical.

Clarence followed.

“Apologies about the cold welcome. Ordinarily we’d have an AI lead you to the interview room, but MARK sent me your file, and it seemed best if we do things the old-fashioned way.”

MARK cares about what I want? Clarence clocked several small cameras embedded in the ceiling. MARK could see their every step. Clarence opted to keep his tone neutral. “MARK told you that?”

Stephen nodded and took an abrupt left down another long hallway.

Clarence followed.

“MARK suggested you for this job in particular.”

“Did it now?”

“Yes, and it suggested a false title to get you in the door as well. Very clever little program, isn’t it?”

Clarence gave a noncommittal grunt.

Stephen laughed. “Boy, MARK was right, you really aren’t a fan of modern times.”

Clarence rejected the premise that modern times could be defined entirely by one’s use of shitty AI chatbots but kept it to himself. After all, this was still an interview. “So, if this isn’t a marketing position, then what is it?”

Stephen opened a door and stepped inside.

Clarence followed and was immediately blinded by natural sunlight streaming through a large glass window. There was a single desk, two chairs, and two fresh cups of coffee from the shop downstairs. Clarence began to suspect if things went well that there might be a pastry on order as well.

“It’s not a marketing position per se, but it is a MARKeting position.”  Stephen tittered on the verge of a full guffaw, but ran his hands over his shirt again as if smoothing the wrinkles might make him seem less insane.

Clarence sat down and reached his hand out toward the coffee cup in a questioning gesture.

“Yes, for you.” Stephen beamed. “You’re probably wondering how we figured out your order.”

“MARK?”

“Quite so.” Stephen sat down.

“So, if this is a position with MARK, why would you want someone that refuses to use it?”

Stephen’s grin was so wide that it threatened to split his head in half. “Precisely for that reason.”

Clarence took a sip of his coffee. Just like every day, it wasn’t great, but even mediocre coffee was still coffee which made it worth drinking. “Delicious.”

“They do a great job down there.” Stephen took a sip of his own and looked like he genuinely enjoyed it. “So, do you have any questions for us?”

Do I have any questions for you? This is a job interview, right? “What exactly will this position be doing?”

“Oh, right! Before I forget, I’m going to need a quick signature on a few documents.” Stephen pulled out a small grey box from his pocket with a red button and a speaker on it. “Greg! The documents, please.” Stephen put the box away, steepled his fingers and waited.

A few seconds later, a paranoid-looking man in a shirt that had seen a thousand sweat stains bustled in carrying a positive brick of documents. Three red tags stuck out at odd intervals to the side.

“Thank you, Greg,” said Stephen.

Greg nodded, a fresh bead of sweat dripping off his forehead and then scuttled back out.

“That’s a large questionnaire for an interview.” Clarence had taken quizzes for positions before, but nothing that resembled his college entrance exams.

“Oh no, no questionnaires, just a simple NDA.”