
The shift
The factory provides.
The job takes a minute to learn. Stock comes through the intake, you check it against today's protocol and send it down the right chute. Power the line from the generator and the battery bank, run the machines, grind what's left and sell it through the hatch. There's a daily quota, and three strikes in a shift is the end of you. There's an overhead speaker that reminds you of both, whether or not you asked.
What takes longer to notice is everything else. The rulebook gets stranger every day. Memos come off the dot-matrix printer at 23:59 with nobody on shift. The Staff Board has posts from people who don't work here any more, and somebody's name badge looks a lot like yours. Nobody sits you down and explains it. You put the picture together yourself — from the PA, the paperwork, the terminals and your own dreams — in the gaps between keeping the line moving.
WARDENFOX

