Company - Max Barry [83]
“Gretel left,” says a voice. He turns to see Klausman, standing there with a mop in one hand. Jones blinks. He has to give it to Klausman: in that janitor disguise, he is practically invisible. It's a psychological thing: you see the gray overalls in your peripheral vision and don't bother looking any closer. “She just walked out. Human Resources had to send down someone to fill in.”
“Gretel quit?”
Klausman shrugs. “She didn't say. Not impressed, though, Jones. Not impressed. We're trying to run an efficient operation here. We don't have room for unreliable employees. It throws the whole system off.”
Jones glances back at Sydney. It doesn't look as if he'll be getting near that reception desk in a hurry. “I guess that's what happens when there's no slack in the system.”
Klausman considers. “Maybe so. Hmm. That would be worth measuring. It would certainly be ironic if after all this time it turned out that hyperefficiency was counterproductive.”
“Indeed,” Jones says.
Klausman watches Sydney struggle with the phones. “Breaks my heart to see the system fail like this. It actually hurts. You know the goal of any company, Jones? To externalize. An efficient company should be like a healthy human body: extracting nutrients from the environment and excreting waste into it. Sources of income are our nutrients, and sources of costs are our wastes.”
“So . . .” Jones says, “Zephyr eats money and shits costs?”
Klausman laughs. “You're probably too young to remember, Jones, but there was a time when a man filled your gas tank for you. A boy carried your groceries to your car. There was a time when you hardly ever stood in line, not outside of a government office. But labor is a source of cost, so companies externalized it. They, as you say, shat it out. And those costs landed exactly where they belonged: on their customers.”
“And on their remaining staff.”
“Quite so. Quite so. Hence: ‘Doing more with less.' You know, Jones, I wish I had more employees like you. Actually, I wish I had fewer employees not like you. You know what I mean. You're an exception: graduates are generally idiots. Enthusiastic idiots, yes, but that's no compensation. In fact, if anything, that exacerbates the problem.” He scratches his nose. “I'm thinking of cutting the graduate program. People say it brings in new ideas, but they're mainly stupid ideas. A man's brain is no good to a company until he's at least forty, in my opinion. Or a woman's. Can't be sexist, now. Of course, the problem then is when they do have good ideas, they can't be bothered to do anything about them.” Klausman falls silent, musing. “Anyway, my point is that you have a future here, Jones. I can see you running this place one day. Not soon.” He winks. “But one day.”
“Jones? Jones?” Sydney calls.
Klausman already has his back turned and is mopping the floor. Jones jolts into motion. “Hi.”
“I had to sign for this.” Sydney pushes a courier's bag across the counter, glaring at him—because of the package, her new duties, or just a general attitude, Jones can't tell.
“Sorry. Thanks.” He tears open the bag. Inside is a shrink-wrapped box that says NOKIA 6225 and a plastic-encased SIM card. There's no note.
“Hey, new cell phone,” says a man beside him. “Where'd you get that from?” Jones has no idea. The man looks at Sydney with a bemused expression. “Got one for me, too?”
“What?” Sydney snaps, having not followed this. Jones takes the opportunity to carry his package over to the visitors area and sit down. When he has successfully unpacked everything and put it together, he is rewarded with a little animation, a friendly tune, and: YOU HAVE 1 NEW TEXT MESSAGE.
A few button presses later, he has that, too. It says: IM SICK + BORED CALL ME
As he heads back to the elevator, Klausman and his mop veer in his direction. Jones's heart races. He is suddenly sure that Klausman is going to grill him about the phone, which, for some reason, he shouldn't have. His fingers tighten on the package.