The Perfect Workplace

“Johnson,” coughed Phil Hammer, head of the Micro Insurance Firm for which Daniel Johnson worked, as he stepped into the latter man’s tight, cramped cubical.  Johnson, whose slender form was presently hunched over a clean desk with eyes focus on his computer screen, grunted in reply.  He was in the middle of an extremely important case, and not even the presence of his boss could tear him away from his work.

“Johnson, I’ve received word of you being generally dissatisfied with your workstation,” Hammer went on, ignoring Johnson’s rudeness for now.  ”Is that true?”  Johnson nodded his head, still not looking away from his computer.  ”Well, as you know, Micro Insurance Firm is highly dedicated to keeping its employees as comfortable as possible, and ensuring that we are ahead of the ergonomic curve at all times.  I figured that I’d come down here and show you a few things we can do to make your time here more comfortable.”

Sighing, Johnson turned about in his chair as his boss riffled through a small bag he had brought along with him.  ”Sir, with all due respect,” he said, a weary look in his eyes, “my problem isn’t with the workstation.  It’s with…”

“Not another word, Johnson, not another word!” his boss said, beaming as he pulled out a small black, flexible rubber device with long, slotted holes running across it.  ”You, like many other employees here, suffer from extreme wrist pain due to pushing your mouse around with your wrist on a flat, hard surface all day, right?”  Johnson, deciding to play along for now, nodded slowly.  ”Well, behold, the Kakum Wrist Mount!  Place this little number under your wrist,” he said, sliding the device into place as he did so, “and just try using the mouse.  Go on, try it!”

With another sigh, Johnson placed his hand upon his mouse and moved it around the screen in random directions.  He had to admit; the way the device conformed to his wrist and slid across the desk was rather pleasant.  ”It’s nice enough, I suppose,” he said, attempting to get on with the conversation.  ”But again, sir,” my problem isn’t with the workstation, it’s with…”

“Just a few more things, Johnson, just a few more things,” Hammer said, pulling a similar device out of his bag.  ”We’ve got a head mount here, also by Kakum, designed to go at the base of your neck in order to keep posture nice and comfortable.”  He placed the device in much the same way he planted the first one.  ”Keeps you from going too straight or too slouched for maximum comfort.”

Johnson felt a growing sense of unease.  His boss had never shown this level of kindness before, and the contrast was rather disturbing.

“We’ve also got a filter for your screen, to keep it from getting too bright,” Hammer said, slapping the transparent black sheet over the monitor, “another pair of these black doohickeys for your feet, so you can stretch them as much as you like.”  Again, the devices were planted.  ”And a series of pads for your extremities, to prevent cramping.”

Johnson, having sat through all of this and feeling extremely uncomfortable, finally snapped at his boss.  ”Sir!  This is nice and all, and it feels great, but my problem with working here isn’t with the workstation.  It’s with the fact that we seem to be completely evil.  You either tell me to work on these cases in ways that outright harm the clients, or alter my work to achieve the same result!  Not to mention the outright horrible rumors I’ve heard about the conditions you force some of us to work in.  This whole place stinks of corruption, and I for one am not going to stand for it.  I appreciate the gestures sir, but I quit!”

“Well, there’s a bit of a problem with that, Johnson,” Hammer said, twiddling his thumbs.  ”You, uh… can’t quit now.”

“What?”

“Yeah.  You see, I’m not going to deny that we’re evil.  I mean, we could change our name to the Insurance Firm of Doom and walk around with big black spikes and we couldn’t get more evil.  But we still need some way of keeping a good public image.  So we had a few of the boys whip up some strategies on that sort of stuff, and the best ways we have of achieving results are a low firing and or quitting record, and good ergonomics.”

“So how do you intend to keep me here?” Johnson asked, attempting to rise from his chair and finding that he had an exceedingly difficult time doing so.”

“As you’re probably noticing right now,” Hammer said, tapping Johnson’s desk and chair, “those devices have effectively glued you to your workstation.  Long story short, you can’t leave these cubicles.  Ever.  We’ve got people who will come and feed you, and naturally you’ll be drugged so when the press comes by, you won’t be able to tell them anything.  Hell, you’ll even be able to get a good eight hours of sleep every night.  But as to leaving and trying to ruin us, we can’t have that.  Not if the firm is to remain successful while still being evil.

“But hey,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “at least you’ll be comfy.”

Johnson stared blankly at his boss, the wheels in his head turning.  He had figured this place to be evil, but not so blatantly.  Escape plans would eventually come to him, but for now, all he could think of to say was, “How am I going to type if one hand’s permanently glued to the mouse?”

“Ah, yes,” said Hammer, who had been turning to leave.  ”A company nurse will be arriving to graft on your third arm in a few minutes.”

“And when the press comes and sees a three-armed freak?”

“Well, we’ll hack the arm off and put it back on when they’re gone.”  Phil Hammer smiled at the ensnared Daniel Johnson.  ”Anyways, have a nice, comfy day, Daniel!”  He waved, and left the cubical.