as far as I can tell. So AllMART must be right for me.
The doors open and we file in and follow the signs and wait in line. We are all very good at waiting in line. We have manners. There is an AllMART badge for each of us. It will be our ID, our key, our face to the world.
ZERO.
My badge says
Zero.
I start to point out the mistake, and then I remember what Timmer told me about being MORT: Don’t badger the badger. He never said why, exactly, but I think this isn’t the time or place to complain. I’m sure there will be an opportunity to get it fixed later, without holding up the line.
I shuffle to the next station, the employee register. I look at the diagrams and present my name tag to the scanner. Green text flashes on the screen: Z. Zindleman has entered the building. Then the screen goes dark to protect my privacy. A green light flashes above an interior door, guiding me to my destination.
Today’s destination is a large room full of desks, like Room 2-B, except cleaner, newer. The vid screen at the front, so familiar, is playing silent flash ads with occasional reminders: “Your smile is the AllMART welcome mat. Put the smile in AllMART.” It doesn’t make much sense, but then metaphors hardly ever do. Ads and reminders don’t have to make sense in the ordinary way. It’s just a little friendly flash of insight to get our brain cells synced. I learned that in Consumer Psychology.
I bet everyone else in this room knows that too, because they are all here. We are alike in more ways than our employee badges. We are all smiling. We are all lucky to have this opportunity. Our smiles are AllMART’s welcome mats.
The door opens. The room, which was already silent, gets quieter.
“Hi, I’m Dawna Day, your personal human-resources manager, and I’m so very happy to welcome all of you. I know you are nervous, but you shouldn’t be. Just stop that right this minute!” She laughs, and, like magic, I’m not nervous anymore. “Each day here at AllMART starts with us standing up proud. Research has shown that people who put their arms in the air have better self-esteem. So we do that, because we should be proud to be part of AllMART.” She touches a remote and the vid screen view pops to life. Happy faces, a happy crowd, all gathered in a green meadow somewhere, the blue ocean shining in the distance. The crowd sings the AllMART jingle and does a simple dance routine while the words that match the gestures crawl along the bottom of the screen:
It’s on a loop, and at the end of the second time through, Dawna Day says, “Stand up! Stand up! Join in! Join in!” When we all finish
clapclapclapp
ing, Dawna Day, my personal human-resources manager, is smiling, and seeing her smile makes me smile. She pauses the vid screen. “Don’t you feel great? I know you do. Every one of us feels great! Before we get started, does anyone have concerns?”
I recognize that sort of question as a formality, but Bella in the front row does not. She raises her hand. Dawna Day is looking at a teaching device. If she wanted to be asked questions, she would be looking at us to communicate receptivity and invite interaction. She isn’t. Bella begins waving her hand to make herself more noticeable.
“Excuse me, there’s an error on my name badge. My name is Bella. . . .”
“There is no error.” Dawna Day’s voice is crisp. She still does not look up from her teaching device.
“It should be Bella, but it says Belly. . . .”
“The names on the badges are a convenience for the
consumers,
should they need to communicate a failure of service. You can be certain that your badge is correctly linked to your permanent records.” Dawna Day is looking at Bella who still thinks there has been a mistake.
“But my name is Bella. I’m Bella Masterson.”
Dawna Day exhales a long cleansing breath and glares. “Certainly you can understand this. The badges are unique identifiers. You,
Belly,
can’t be
Bella,
because another
The doors open and we file in and follow the signs and wait in line. We are all very good at waiting in line. We have manners. There is an AllMART badge for each of us. It will be our ID, our key, our face to the world.
ZERO.
My badge says
Zero.
I start to point out the mistake, and then I remember what Timmer told me about being MORT: Don’t badger the badger. He never said why, exactly, but I think this isn’t the time or place to complain. I’m sure there will be an opportunity to get it fixed later, without holding up the line.
I shuffle to the next station, the employee register. I look at the diagrams and present my name tag to the scanner. Green text flashes on the screen: Z. Zindleman has entered the building. Then the screen goes dark to protect my privacy. A green light flashes above an interior door, guiding me to my destination.
Today’s destination is a large room full of desks, like Room 2-B, except cleaner, newer. The vid screen at the front, so familiar, is playing silent flash ads with occasional reminders: “Your smile is the AllMART welcome mat. Put the smile in AllMART.” It doesn’t make much sense, but then metaphors hardly ever do. Ads and reminders don’t have to make sense in the ordinary way. It’s just a little friendly flash of insight to get our brain cells synced. I learned that in Consumer Psychology.
I bet everyone else in this room knows that too, because they are all here. We are alike in more ways than our employee badges. We are all smiling. We are all lucky to have this opportunity. Our smiles are AllMART’s welcome mats.
The door opens. The room, which was already silent, gets quieter.
“Hi, I’m Dawna Day, your personal human-resources manager, and I’m so very happy to welcome all of you. I know you are nervous, but you shouldn’t be. Just stop that right this minute!” She laughs, and, like magic, I’m not nervous anymore. “Each day here at AllMART starts with us standing up proud. Research has shown that people who put their arms in the air have better self-esteem. So we do that, because we should be proud to be part of AllMART.” She touches a remote and the vid screen view pops to life. Happy faces, a happy crowd, all gathered in a green meadow somewhere, the blue ocean shining in the distance. The crowd sings the AllMART jingle and does a simple dance routine while the words that match the gestures crawl along the bottom of the screen:
It’s on a loop, and at the end of the second time through, Dawna Day says, “Stand up! Stand up! Join in! Join in!” When we all finish
clapclapclapp
ing, Dawna Day, my personal human-resources manager, is smiling, and seeing her smile makes me smile. She pauses the vid screen. “Don’t you feel great? I know you do. Every one of us feels great! Before we get started, does anyone have concerns?”
I recognize that sort of question as a formality, but Bella in the front row does not. She raises her hand. Dawna Day is looking at a teaching device. If she wanted to be asked questions, she would be looking at us to communicate receptivity and invite interaction. She isn’t. Bella begins waving her hand to make herself more noticeable.
“Excuse me, there’s an error on my name badge. My name is Bella. . . .”
“There is no error.” Dawna Day’s voice is crisp. She still does not look up from her teaching device.
“It should be Bella, but it says Belly. . . .”
“The names on the badges are a convenience for the
consumers,
should they need to communicate a failure of service. You can be certain that your badge is correctly linked to your permanent records.” Dawna Day is looking at Bella who still thinks there has been a mistake.
“But my name is Bella. I’m Bella Masterson.”
Dawna Day exhales a long cleansing breath and glares. “Certainly you can understand this. The badges are unique identifiers. You,
Belly,
can’t be
Bella,
because another
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