TGIF

Sally filed the few remaining documents at 4:57pm as usual.

She found that this left her exactly the right amount of time to close the drawer, walk to the time clock and sign out at 5 pm without wasting a second of precious freedom.

Sally's manager, Mr Dalton, eyeballed Sally every day at 4:59pm, his wrist raised so he could eyeball the time as well. He wanted to ensure she wasn't hanging around the time clock unnecessarily as he'd known employees to do at the end of the day. At 5:00 pm he lowered his wrist and remarked inwardly at her efficiency.

Mr Dalton's direct supervisor, Lamont Sepkin, studies Dalton's employees' time stamps with a copy of the quarterly earnings adjacent. If seconds aren't being turned into a maximum dollar value as defined by previous reports and revenue potential, he'll know it and the axing will commence. Dalton's squad looks clean, this time.

Lamont Sepkin's direct report, Barry Mavis, is on an airplane. The only time he will ever talk to Mr Sepkin is if people need to be laid off en masse. Barry talks to people on the airplane's phone, then lands, then gets on another plane and gets back on the phone. He hasn't known the outside of an airport in 13 years.

Barry Mavis talks on the phone to Doug Stilton. Doug does not manage Barry, but delivers notes and tasks from a committee. The committee sits eternal in a conference room. The room has mahogany walls, a mahogany ceiling, exquisite track lighting, and a black granite conference table topped with crystal pitchers of water and untouched glasses. The men do not speak as the ticker tape spews magically from a slot in the table; they merely hand orders to Doug on an hourly basis while nodding slightly at one another from time to time.

Sally arrives home, heats a frozen meal, and turns on her favorite program.