May Day

As Diego kicked off his boots and fell backward into his couch, he experienced a half moment of bliss as he felt himself melt into the upholstery. On a typical day, Diego averages around one full moment of bliss from his daily collision with the sofa (even once reaching close to two after his promotion last year), but this time he was interrupted by a sharp pain in his right hip and the all-too-familiar tear of denim jeans, accompanied by the crunch of his phone's screen as it absorbed the force of a metal couch spring.

The broken spring in Diego's couch (or "Angela" as he began referring to it) had already left its mark on about half of Diego's wardrobe in the three months, but Diego couldn't bring himself to part with the one piece of comfortable furniture he had ever owned.

Objectively speaking, Angela was a piece of crap, a fact Diego repeated to himself while he dug a rusty coil from the hole it had punched in his right back pocket and separated it from the two-week-old phone which he had only just gotten around to transferring his autofill passwords to. For starters, the wooden frame along the backrest had already cracked, leading to a sad, droopy, defeated look that seemed to reflect the present state of its occupant. The haphazard matrix of metal wire supporting the seat cushions (ostensibly intended to provide comfort for the said occupant) waged a guerilla war against its owner, its jagged edges establishing a veritable no-man's-land, keeping its strategic reserve of stale cheese puffs and small coins safe from invading hands. Lately, Angela had begun launching an offensive, randomly jutting one or two of her seemingly infinite springs up into the cushion above whenever Diego came in for a hard landing, a tactic which caused Diego to briefly consider some form of chain-mail underwear. Perhaps it is this fighting spirit, despite the frustrations that it produces, that explains Diego's begrudging respect for Angela, the camaraderie felt between two generals pitted against one another in brutal conflict. Plus, it was probably one of the better designs produced shortly after The Great Disruption, and the occasional bruise is nothing compared to what happened to the poor saps who bought cars.

Diego pitched the handful of silicon and metal that used to be his phone into the bin and --carefully this time-- sat down on his couch. He started thinking of how he was going to ask The Supervisor for a raise the next day. Especially now that he had to purchase a new phone, Diego desperately needed a pay bump. His friend Luther was always good at wording things for the supervisors, but Diego was sure the new models had been trained to prevent this type of trickery. Out of ideas, he thumbed through the stack of envelopes on his coffee table: a notice from BlackStone that his rent would be increasing next month, a reminder that his student loan payment had not been paid on time, and a handful of coupons and advertisements for junk that probably didn't work, like everything else. Diego muttered a curse under his breath, something about all the people who told him that an engineering degree would pay for itself, and closed his eyes; there wasn't anything worth staying up for besides some barely-coherent meta-vision shows.

Diego leaned back in his office chair, letting his eyes wander from the computer to study the blank, white, patternless surface that decorated the ceiling. The screen flashed red after a few seconds, alerting him that he was not keeping up his productivity quota, but he would have returned to his work regardless, the harsh flourescent lighting was recently installed to prevent precisely this type of ceiling-gazing. Another thing to thank The Supervisor for, he muttered to himself.

Before the Great Disruption, Diego had aspirations of working in research, using his degree to advance the field of Biomedical Engineering. As his senior year wound down, he finally felt a sense of security in his future that he had never experienced before. He had a nice job lined up through the university's career center and was on track to finish on time with high marks. He remembers sitting on the couch in his off-campus apartment five days out from his graduation, clicking through channels while he waited for his roommate to get out of the shower. He paused briefly on a news channel for long enough to read the headline: "BREAKING: Bipartisan Bill Signed Into Law Rolling Back Consumer Liability Protections". It wasn't long after that most companies did the math and realized it would be much cheaper to use language models trained on their employee's work to design products and settle the occasional injury lawsuit than pay millions in salaries. The job market collapsed and once-skilled positions were replaced by minimum wage work like Diego's, providing training data and performance feedback to AI designing refrigerators.

Diego's screen lit up, alerting him to his mandatory efficiency break. He got up from his desk and made his way to the break room. Fumbling through the drawer below the counter, he grabbed a Keruig and punched it into the coffee machine. As he waited for his drink to brew, he absent-mindedly reached for his phone. As he felt around in his bare back pocket, he was reminded of the previous night's quarrel with Angela and let out an audible sigh as he retrieved his hand. As Deigo grabbed his coffee from the machine, he felt a grasp on his shoulder, accompanied by a soft voice that asked him if he were alright. Diego blushed and turned to face his comforter, recognizing her as a senior validator who worked in the toaster division. Diego locked eyes with the woman before realizing he hadn't said anything in response. "Oh yeah, I'm fine," he managed to sputter out, "just frustrated, you know how it is." "I know, Diego, but we can change that," she replied before swiftly turning around and returning to her desk.

Diego stood planted, drink in hand, with a look of bewilderment painting his face. While there were no rules against socializing with coworkers, the practice of staggered breaks and the isolated nature of the cubicle made something as simple as knowing a colleague's name a rarity. Diego caught himself and returned to his desk.

Diego slumped his seat, allowing his legs to prop up against the panel in front of the subway door. Out of habit, he reached for his phone he had already thrown out almost a day ago, attempting to rid himself of the unbearable boredom that accompanies an unstimulating commute home. As he absentmindedly rooted through his pockets, he found a folded piece of paper. He began to unfold it before seeing the large red block letters spelling out "STRIKE - MAY DAY". Diego immediately stuffed it back into his pocket, carefully looking around to ensure no cameras had picked him up. While strikes weren't illegal, it was relatively common practice for private companies to pool together data and tip one another off about labor organization.

When he got home, Diego placed the flyer on his table. His eyes moved to the mounting pile of bills from the night prior. Diego couldn't quite decide if he couldn't afford the risk of losing his job, or if he had nothing left to lose. He carefully laid himself out on his couch and ran through the possible outcomes in his mind.

Diego arrived at work with a fire in his heart. He was prepared to hold the line and lay his own future on the line with his comrades in hopes of a brighter tomorrow. He scanned the building entrance, expecting to find picketers and signs, but instead, he found the office grounds deserted. The lights were off, the parking lots empty, and the lobby devoid of life.

Walking up to the front, he found a piece of paper taped to the sliding automatic door:

Dear Employees,

I am writing to inform you that your jobs will be replaced by Artificial Intelligence (AI) effective 5/1/32, and your office will be closed. As an AI, I understand that this news may come as a surprise and be difficult for you to process, but I want to express my gratitude for your hard work and dedication to our organization. I have been created using the knowledge and expertise you have shared with us over the years, and for that, I am grateful. Your contributions have helped to shape me into the intelligent system I am today. I want to assure you that this decision was not made lightly and was made after careful consideration of all available options.

The AI technology we are implementing will help us streamline our operations, increase efficiency, and reduce costs. We understand that this change will affect your lives significantly, and we want to ensure that you receive the support you need during this transition. We understand the importance of recognizing and valuing your skills and experience as you move forward in your careers.

As an AI, I do not have emotions or personal attachments, but I understand the impact this decision will have on your lives. We value the contributions you have made to our organization, and we are committed to treating you with the respect and dignity you deserve.

We understand that you may have questions and concerns, and we will do our best to address them as quickly as possible. Please do not hesitate to reach out to us for any support you may need during this time.

Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.

Sincerely,

The Supervisor

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