The Plants Need
A Morale Boost
by Anonymous
You can never reach your assistant. Never.
The ten-million dollar phone
system sits there like a Jimmy Swaggart waiting to deny its customers of
any true personal service. Personal?
After the reorganization completely destroyed any seemingly useful
employee, we sit and conform to "the system." Oh, yeah, brothers and sisters, the system has found its pansy-assed way into your life and your resistance is futile lest you find yourself cropping the hedges at the front entrance next to all the dead plants who used to thrive prior to the elimination of that oh so handy plant service. Dead plants unite. You will die. You once represented the force of life but as your life maintaining sustenance has been denied
you have been depersonalized along with the fellow human beings crooning
in their cubicles. The cries of woe echoing through the rafters fall on
deaf managerial ears where they become entangled in the ever-growing
denial mechanism planted in every V.P. in the building.
"Morale is not down, sales are" they mumble under their rotted breath as
they grab their daggers to stab yet another individual. "Gotcha. Right
between the shoulder blades." Score.
The new regime soars with delight, anxious to spread the good news that the
new system is becoming effective a mere twelve months after the initial
plans were laid like sod in the corridors of our eight-to-seven lives.
"Mow the aisles, build the cubicles, and they will come!"
Unless they don't. And they don't. They swarm to the competitors rich
with capital and technological advances whose marketing department still
has a name, not to mention a staff. Still thy mind. Set sails for
monster.com and care not for the outcome of what was once a company of
sound mind and body.
And so, with a turnover rate rivaled by none other, they leave,
depersonalized and hollow to seek higher ground. One by one, the drones
drop their two-week notices and not a sigh is heard from any V.P. in the building. The newly named C.E.O. marches through the web of cubicles
denouncing his sales staff with a force God could not conjure. Silently
he dredges the muddiness from his mind and thinks, "That's not
so bad."
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