Interruptions

Between support calls, Schultz did what his supervisors called ‘bitwork’. A fragment of an empty form would appear in his work area. Portions of entry fields were covered so that the visible fragments of data made no sense. Schultz’s job was to copy the fragmented bits to a second set of entry fields which were marked to match the first. None of it made sense, but the most baffling part of the job was that he always had to reverse the order of the characters. The only reason given for such nonsensical work was ‘security’. If he could make a coherent guess about what the text said, it was a good day. If he could fit a dirty word into one of the spaces, it was a very good day.

Schultz’s message queue pinged. The sound was the repeating, ascending scale of a management directive. The alert would continue until he played the message. Ignoring the directive wasn’t an option. In the coming days any supervisor might question him at any moment. “How many pens are you allowed per year, Schultz?” “What’s the due date for tax form changes, Schultz?” “What are the colors of the new log, Schultz?”

Schultz tapped the message hologram and the message avatar appeared. The image was that of a young woman, perky, vivacious, and a little too excited about the latest HR directive, or the latest restriction on office supplies, or whatever.

“Just a reminder, the new dress code policy will be released two weeks from this coming Thursday.” Schultz is now miming masturbation and rolling his eyes. 

The avatar continued. “Make sure you read every detail of this important policy so that you may be properly attired in your work pods. Schultz looked at the hatch of his pod. I could be naked in here. Who would see me?

He looked at the avatar, then back at the hatch door, did both again. Why not? Business attire isn’t exactly comfortable. In a matter of seconds, he sat spinning and naked in his chair, his clothing scattered around the tiny pod. He laughed. He’d finally found a way to add color to the pod.

He returned to the data entry work. Below the alphabetic cipher was an empty box labeled ‘comments’, which he had been told to always leave blank. A year into the job, as an experiment, he typed something that read as a legitimate response to what he could make of the accompanying cipher. No response either from the system or from his supervisor was ever forthcoming. He started adding comments regularly with the same lack of result. Before long Schultz used the comments box to entertain himself. The text varied. There was the week of management insults. Andrea Schlaughter chews dirty undergarments. Faolan Alerani Five Mameles sucks the eggs of his own offspring. There was the week of nonsense. I are Anara, but that’s not why I eat here. I bathe in fertile topsoil every Thursday before lent. There was the limerick week. 

There once was a girl from Mars

Who hung out in too many bars

She drank till she dropped

Then she got popped

And her mate said thanks for your arse.

The message queue pinged again. It was another management directive.

“Just a reminder, make sure you have reviewed the change control procedures issued three weeks ago. Acknowledgement forms are due by 1900 hours, this coming Friday.”

If the avatar were a real person, Schultz would happily have punched her, female or not. He had coded the acknowledgement form the day the new procedure had come out. He was still getting notices about a procedure he expected to change in a fortnight.

He returned to his work and managed to complete nine items from his queue before he was pinged again. It was Andrea this time.

“Have you reviewed the new player sheet standards?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any comments or questions?”

“Can I print them? The lavatory’s running out of toilet paper.”

Andrea laughed. “Just make sure you get it in by the end of business. We want to roll this out next week.

Schultz returned to his work. He was halfway through the next cypher when the priority queue rang again. Schultz swung at the glyph harder than he had intended and rapped his knuckles on the pod wall.

“Concat Jump Start is the newest course being offered in the virtual classroom. The next session…”

Schultz backhanded the avatar hologram, dismissing it. He had taken the course already. He could ignore the rest of the message. No sooner had he dismissed it when the priority queue pinged. Again.

“Just a reminder, the originality brainstorming session is tomorrow at 0900 on VR Bridge 113GC. Come prepared with your ideas on how to increase work productivity.”

Schultz breathed a sigh of relief when 1900 arrived. There would be no more management directives that day. He might have gone home for the evening, but he still had thirty cyphers ahead of him.