Metric Wonderland
“You’re right, Sid. The Director dwells in a metric wonderland,” The Tech Coordinator leans forward. “Look at how the numbers work. Keyboard microswitches count keyboard jockey keystrokes, 102 keys.”
“Standard keyboard has 104.”
“You’re the technician, you should know. But stop and think. Backspace and delete keys are counterproductive in the way they undo work already done. One hundred two keys add to keyboard jockey numbers, two subtract. Always double-check backspace and delete keys. If one happens to stick, that lowers our numbers.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Get over it. It’s not a plan; it’s a fair metric that tracks reality. The Machine keeps score; it monitors performance. Last month, eight million keystrokes to the ninth power, multiplied by four thousand, ten-fingered keyboard jockeys.”
“What was it, four thousand workers? You’re talking forgotten majority. It’s not about accountability. It’s about who to fire and who to keep. Four thousand, afflicted with carpal tunnel, tendonitis. Finger pads worn to bones, barely enough skin remaining for crime-stopping fingerprints.”
“Get over it. Institute’s now The Academy. Nothing else changed. Funny thing, your sarcasm about numbers pulls your numbers down. You’re better off acting more professionally. Remember?”
Rage
Blood’s pounding in my head, doing its work, mixing in a healthy dose of adrenaline, making me more alive with a rage that fuels what needs to be said, “You’re talking Zen moments of numerical nothingness, useless byproducts of production. How many of your keystrokes fill a molecule? Fill a thumb drive, fill a cloud?”
“Loyal service requires unbiased, statistical reflection—always.”
“Accountability, who do you fire, who to keep? ‘Your corporate spin’s nothing but an art form to soft sell the next layoff: Package early retirement. Discharge, deport, layoff, cutback, thin the herd, put out to pasture.”
“This conversation’s going nowhere.”