Make My People Go

Make My People Go

It was hot as hell in the desert despite the wisp of cloud. Tents of precise shape, in precise rows, lacking any of the artistic originality of the old country, lined up like cornfields in Iowa. The people were the seed crop for the new production, swiped from their former bosses in a hostile takeover. There was enough food at least, and a little stream for water. About as exciting as a sleeping pig.

They gathered the gluey shit the Owner spread out each morning on to mortar boards, vainly trying to keep dirt out. Nice. Yeah, the Boss is feeding us this mush, but the only benefit is that it’s free. Scrambled glue for breakfast. Cold glue for lunch. Fried glue for dinner, glue bread for dessert… And, if you didn’t eat it all today or finish dinner by six, ugghh! You got to eat maggots. Tastes greasy. Couldn’t the Boss, who grows peaches and BBQs steaks in his garden, send a thick filet mignon with ice cream a few days a week? This is crap. Food was better back home, and the bosses there didn’t make you dig for it.

“Hey man! How are my special people doing today? You are the greatest! Dominators of the earth, and I am your loving Boss. Welcome to the Business! Are you ready for the Total Life and Riches Success Program?” (The soft voice of the Owner was amplified through speakers.)

Everyone bowed toward the mountain mumbling together, ”Yes, Yes! We’ll happily do anything you want. This is so exciting!” A few clowns turned their rear end toward it instead of their face. Stupid. The kiss-ass lackeys would be all over them. Good luck finding your way home baby, if you don’t end up buried in the wilderness.

“We’ll start with hygiene”, said the foreman. Take a shower and get some clean clothes. And, no feeling each other up while you’re changing. HR frowns on physical attraction. We are professional people now so act like it!”

“We’re in a dirty fucking desert”, many were thinking. “Same clothes. Never wear out. “I love, love, love your rags! Did you patch them yourself? Why no! Every morning they are folded neatly, fresh, and, well, does this shade of grey make my butt look fat?... Same food. Same little stream the boys piss in… We are real professionals, for sure”.

At a gong, struck by a burly ass-licker, the new hires gathered in the production zone. The foreman gathers them, new hires, “There are a lot of things to learn. We have amazing information. Get ready because this will be like drinking from a firehose. You will be the smartest, richest, most envied people on earth! Now, get ready. You are going to meet the Owner! C’mon up, meet The Business Maker and personally get your autographed book of rules”.

One of the kiss-ass lackeys whispered to the foreman, “They are going to be sooo excited about this opportunity! But it could be a free for all, with everyone running up at once! Let’s make a barrier, limit entry, so it is nice and orderly.” “Good idea. Do it”, said the foreman. The next couple of hours were all about building enthusiasm for the rules. What. A. Yawn.

However, a bit to the Owner and Foreman’s surprise, nobody cared. These rules were hard to grasp and the opportunity was intimidating. They weren’t excited about being held accountable and responsible for outcomes. “You go meet the Owner and then just tell us what he said, and we’ll do that. This is just too much to grasp, especially with having to gather what-is-it every meal, keep the clothes clean, and set aside time for huzza huzza with the ole lady. We don’t have time for all that business stuff”.

So, the foreman went up to the office to discuss the problem with the Owner. “They just want a few simple S.O.P.s and they want me to run things. If they meet you personally it may draw attention to their disabilities and you might fire them then and there or, if they seem capable, give them more responsibility but with no raise in compensation. In general, they are lazy. If we are going to get any production out of them we may need to use a stick. Lovey-dovey won’t cut it.”

It took a while to come up with a plan, but when the foreman showed up for the next training day the workplace was buzzing. But not with production. The crew had made some This-is-the-bomb from what-is-it. They laid aside their Sunday-go-to-meeting uniforms, and man, they were getting it on! Orders were piled up, shipping ignored. No boss, no loss! The 10 major points the Owner and Foreman had hammered out from the original manual were useless.

The Owner sent word, “There’s only one major point now. You disrespect me and I’ll disrespect you. Fire them all!”. The foreman argued back, “Surely not all. We’ll never make quota and consumers will find other Owners. I can make it happen.”

With the Owner’s consent, the worst of the laggards and the party ring leaders were sent packing, permanently expelled from the Opportunity. Whiners were demoted and took a deep cut. The new major points were enforced with harsh discipline but defections to the competition still occurred and market share diminished. The whole script had to be rewritten.

“None of these shitheads, including you, are going to the new production plant. We’ll widen the hiring pool and simplify training down to 2 standard operating procedures. 1. Get along with Me. 2. Get along with each other. That shouldn’t be too difficult. And we’ll set the reward for usefulness at Out of This World.”

On they went. The Owner went so far as to marry the Foreman’s daughter and put her in charge of operations. She turned out to be more arm candy than brains and before she lost her figure provided some entertainment for some of the largest competitors.

The Owner, looking over his books thought, “That’s it. I’m starting over. I think I’ll do it in this Galaxy over here.” And off He went. He just left us in the desert, in rags, with no food, and we’re ought of this-is-the-bomb. We should have gone for the opportunity when we had the chance.