Corporate Man is called in to investigate reports of vile, unethical business practices at Great American Business Company. What he finds there just might destroy him (except we all know the ending to The Tragic Death of Corporate Man so it should be fairly obvious that it can't really destroy him, though it can come close).
Enslaved by the Bonus Whores is an all new Corporate Man Adventure Serial. Chapters will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Tanya and Mr. Jones hadn’t had much luck finding a container for The Greed sausages. They’d tried kitchen storage, automotive, and even gardening. Still, nothing. Nothing that seemed suitable anyway. As they stood in the toy section, however, things began to look up. Various spaceships, swords, ray guns, and toy cars could easily house the leftovers of The Greed.
Mr. Jones was favoring the ray gun.
Tanya professed her admiration for a pink unicorn. Mr. Jones suspected her of putting him on, but on the contrary, Tanya really did like the bejeweled unicorn. Not because she admired its girly qualities, she simply loved the idea of befouling a stereotypical girl’s toy by cramming it full of nasty greed pieces. She also liked the idea of forcing Mr. Jones to carry around something so pretty and sparkly.
“That’s not the point, Wendel,” a woman’s voice barked from the next aisle. “The point is that your crew is slow and needs a little incentive.”
“My crew is not slow. Management is asking the impossible,” Wendel said.
“According to corporate, they are below the per-hour rate on number of cases thrown.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Someone, a panel or a group, from corporate researched it and came up with the figure.”
“Those numbers are either generated from asking an experienced freight worker to throw as fast as he can for fifteen minutes and then averaging his time across eight hours or by measuring a quantity of freight that is extremely easy and quick to throw and calling that the average.”
“So. What does that matter? It is still the average that corporate demands.”
There was an audible, exhausted sigh from Wendel before he continued. “Measuring fifteen minutes of work against eight hours is like apples to oranges. The human body can’t work at sprint speed for eight hours. It’s too much to ask.”
“Not according to this paperwork. And going forward everyone will be wearing one of these during their shift.”
Tanya and Mr. Jones shared a confused but intrigued look and then walked around the corner in time to see the black-haired manager slip a little collar over Wendel’s neck.
“This has to be illegal,” Wendel said.
“Why?” said the black haired manager as she checked the connections on the collar. “Everyone has given consent.”
“Yeah. Cause you said they could wear the collars or find another job.”
“Yes, voluntary. Like I said.”
“Not by my definition.”
“It’s simple. I see someone dragging their heals, I zap ‘em. I see someone chatting up a fellow worker. Zap. Checking out a hot piece of tail walking by. Zap, zap, zap. Just you watch, our productivity numbers will show positive change.”
Wendel shook his head. “How about you throw freight tonight and see if you can make those numbers and then we–”
Wendel went stiff; his eyes wide and bottom lip quivering. The sounds that came out of his throat were chortled and thick.
“Still disagree with me?” the black-haired manager asked.
Wendel shook his head, the gesture over exaggerated to leave no uncertainty in his response.
“Good,” she said. “But you and the crew better work while I’m zapping you. None of this freezing up, like you’re enjoying the pain, crap.”
She walked off, passing by Tanya and Mr. Jones without even noticing them. When she got to the end of the aisle she triggered the switch again and Wendel, who was standing there doing nothing, went rigid and chortley again. Then, at a noticeably quickened pace, he resumed his work.
“Are we gonna get her?” Tanya asked.
“No,” said Mr. Jones.
“Oh come on. She’s gotta be the one making your sausage thing twitch.”
Mr. Jones glared at her and said, “How about we make that the last time you phrase it that way? And no, not even a shudder. I think that woman’s just a sadist. All that performance efficiency crap must be a cover, an excuse to inflict pain.”
“You’re saying she’s probably wearing vinyl panties and has a cat-of-nine-tails in her locker?”
“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Mr. Jones said. “No, someone else is making The Greed remnants jump, but the movements are weakening, now.”