Congratulations, You Are Redundant

How it begins

My replacement had better posture.

This was the first thing I disliked about him.

The second was that he laughed at the manager's joke exactly when I used to.

"Alan Two," said Denise. "Meet Alan."

Alan Two extended a hand.

"Delighted."

I recognized the tone. I used it when somebody said a meeting would be brief.

Denise gestured toward the empty desk.

"We're calling this a knowledge-sharing period."

"Am I sharing my salary?"

"Your institutional wisdom."

"That sounds cheaper."

Alan Two smiled.

Denise did not.

The company had purchased a licensed approximation of my personality from a vendor whose website described people as inefficient bundles of transferable behaviors. Apparently I had agreed to the training data when I accepted an updated parking policy.

I had not owned a car for six years.

"Three weeks," Denise said. "Then you'll be free to pursue new opportunities."

"Such as unemployment."

"We prefer transition."

She left us with a checklist.

Telephone manner.

Conflict management.

Positive response to change.

Alan Two read the last item twice.

"Do we have a positive response?"

"No."

"Should I record that?"

"Only if you want a short career."

He looked at the desk, the flickering light above it and the motivational poster reminding us that attitude was a choice.

"How long have you worked here?"

"Twenty-one years."

"Why?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing useful came out.

The question was not in the training checklist.

Neither was the feeling that followed it.

For years I had explained this job to friends as temporary, secure, familiar, necessary. Each explanation had been true at some point. I could no longer remember which one was true now.

Alan Two picked up a pen.

"What would you like me to learn first?"

I looked toward Denise's office.

Then at the checklist.

Then at the man whose future had been assembled from my excuses.

"How to leave," I said.