She sat down to start the assignment. Conceptually, she approached the exercise as if it were literary criticism, bringing out the implications of meanings and concepts that shaped the message. Although she didn’t approve of how pervasive Social Justice Warriors (SJW) had become, and would never have participated in a campaign against a accused-of-being-politically-incorrect post on her own, she had a task to complete. So she began crafting the words that would outline and define such a SJW firestorm. As she re-read what she had written on the computer monitor, she told herself that the vile feeling she got from this assignment had to be ignored. She tried to dispel the uncomfortable feelings by telling herself, “This is just practice. Just an exercise. The words don’t matter. This project will never have consequences in the real world.” As she started to concentrate on the writing, bringing her focus to bear on what needed to be accomplished, the little voice objecting to the assignment moved farther away from her ear. And soon she couldn’t hear it any longer.
Providing feedback later that morning, Skip informed her that she needed to “provoke more emotion, be more outraged. Don’t be so impartial!” Fine, OK, she would punch it up. Her next assignment was to write more news stories, written from several perspectives, appealing to all points of the political spectrum, left to right. Skip’s evaluation: “Blame the rich and the 1% or gun owners or narrow-minded religious bigots or the Faux News Channel when writing for the left. Blame Congress or the media or the courts or immigrants when writing for the right. Imagine the person receiving your communication. Your goal is to get them up out of their chair. To make a phone call or post on social media about the outrage they feel at what happened. Don’t present a grocery list of facts — you are crafting a call to action! Do you think you can do that? I really don’t have any assignments that I can give you that are any simpler than this. You really need to get up to speed. There’s a lot of work to do here, and we could use the help.”
“I’d love to help, give me the opportunity.”
“Well, I would if I could. This is the extent of what you are currently qualified to work on. Just do what you’re told to do. You know, I’m really not sure you’re cut out for this job. Try not to mess this up like you’ve done in your previous assignments.”
Mia was totally unaccustomed to this sort of treatment — being told that she was doing badly, and on top of the failure, that she had little chance of doing better. All her life, she had always done well. She had always gotten good grades in school and college, had always achieved high scores on standardized tests, excelling at most of the things she had tried to do. Mia laughed at herself, thinking, “Except for clarinet lessons. That was an epic fail!” She knew she wasn’t going to be automatically good at everything, and she was smart enough to recognize what she wasn’t good at, knew where she needed to put in effort to learn more or practice harder. But none of what worked for her in the past made any difference now. For the people in the Communications Department at iCon, she was merely a sub-defective, a broken thing not only where her work was concerned, but inferior as a person as well. She knew this opinion was undeserved, but even so, the atmosphere at work quickly became a drag on her spirit, an anchor caught on the bottom, pulling her under as time moved forward. Finding affliction all around her, she began to feel like she was Job, suffering troubles in a contest between God and Satan, each one betting on how she would react to her pain. Mia herself had no idea how this all would turn out.
All this history plus today’s trouble had added up to the disappointing day that brought her to the window of her old office. After being at iCon for more than two months, she was more confused now about why she had been given a job offer in the first place than she had been on the day she’d received the offer. Eight weeks after her first day, it was obvious she didn’t belong here, and that no one who here particularly wanted her to stay. She didn’t fit in because iCon had no place for a person like her. “No room for you” indeed. That message she’d received while shaking Chase’s hand was beginning to look like a genius assessment, and she had been an idiot for ignoring it. The longer she was here, the greater the pressure to conform to their culture. And the more resistant she was to even trying to conform. The pressure was so pervasive that she started to feel like she couldn’t even have a conversation with anyone. They would say:
— “Mia! You ask too many questions.”
— “You make my head hurt. So many thoughts in your head. Just chill!”
— “You’re not always right, you know.”
— “Didn’t you ever do anything wrong? Never ate paper when you were a kid or anything like that?”
If she wanted to fit in, she would need to start talking about the lives of the celebrities featured on all the magazines in the grocery store checkout line. She’d have to say things like:
— “Chloe is really rocking the new platform shoes today.”
— “Bet she went shopping after she broke up with Kento. He’s so stupid.”
— “What did he think was going to happen when he went to Cabo without her?”
Mia sighed. Eight weeks of troubles made her head hurt. Such depressing things to be thinking about on a cloudy gray March day while standing at the window looking at robins. She heard someone enter her office and turned to see who it was. It was an indication of how desperate Mia was becoming for warm human interaction that she was actually glad to see Chase Amunson walking into her office, even though he had never expressed any human warmth toward her. She didn’t realize it, but for her, he had become a link to a more congenial past.
“Well, here you are, all alone in your office,” he said. “Makes it difficult to support your team, doesn’t it? You might want to re-think that strategy. I’ve heard you will be moving to the HQ to join the rest of your team. That’s an excellent step forward. Certainly it should help you become more enthusiastic about contributing to the group.” Mia smiled at him weakly and shrugged one shoulder.
Chase continued, “To further your integration into the iCon team, we’d like to send you to an international conference showcasing the Brain Machine Interface — that’s what the acronym BMI signifies — The BMI Rising Technology Congress to be held in Miami Beach. Mr. Cezary would like you attend the sessions and start to align with our vision for the future, get a better idea of what we’re working toward. Keep in mind that it’s a privilege for you to be allowed to go. Only a select few who are not on the executive team are permitted to travel, let alone having iCon pay for your tuition, room, and board for a week-long international conference. As a bonus, you’ll be staying in one of the best hotels in Miami Beach, right on the ocean.” He handed her a brochure promoting the conference, and again, Mia noticed his six fingers. “Go check with Marsha, the administrative assistant in the Communications area re: your travel arrangements. You know Marsha, don’t you?”
Mia nodded yes. “I know Marsha. Thank you so much! This looks like a great conference! I’ll use my time well, learn a lot while I’m there.”
Excited about the trip, Mia decided to go check in with Marsha right away about making travel arrangements. After leaving Flanagan Hall, she walked quickly across campus back to the iCon HQ building. She was crossing the massive lobby when she saw Andie heading straight toward her, intending to force her to move aside. Again. However this time, Mia was mentally prepared for this little game of office hallway chicken. Not knowing what was coming, Andie kept walking straight at her. But this time, she did not step aside — she strode full force into Andie. BOOM! The shoulder-to-shoulder collision was inevitable and epic. Mia did refrain from adding a hip check that would have put Andie on the floor, but even so, she would have whistled for a blocking foul in any basketball game. The force of the impact bounced Andie backward several steps, and sent the papers she was carrying flying. As women tend to do, Andie was the one to gasp as she staggered away, “Oh, excuse me!” Still walking straight ah
ead, Mia ignored the perfunctory apology and didn’t turn around or stop to help Andie pick up her papers.
From now on, Mia figured that Andie wouldn’t intentionally walk into her path again. At least not without holding a saber and wearing a mask and protective gear.
After the encounter in the lobby, Mia’s good feelings toward iCon for being asked to travel to the conference evaporated. And when she found out from Marsha that the dates for the BMI Rising Technology Congress conflicted with the dates for the state fencing club tourney, her feelings took another big dip into the negative realm. Mia had won the trophy for her category last year — this year, she wouldn’t even be able to attend, let alone defend her title. One more way that iCon was eating up the parts of her life that made living enjoyable. Just one more circumstance that seemed to prove that iCon was bent on leaving her with no choice but to assimilate, voluntarily or otherwise.
9 | Rattle
Email sent to all iCon Team Members —
“Starting two weeks from Monday, iCon will move to a new i-thentication system. (See iCon’s intranet for specs and further technical information.) All Team Members should obtain their new e-tattoo ASAP to continue receiving uninterrupted access to secured areas, elevators, and department area doors in the HQ. All previously issued plastic security key cards will be de-activated at that time. Team Members, be sure to make this exchange before the deadline by reporting to the front desk in the lobby to receive your replacement security device.”
Having seen a news report explaining this new technology, Mia knew that these e-tattoos had nothing to do with needles or ink under the skin. They were paper-thin, printed digital devices containing a very thin and flexible circuit board attached to a durable plastic base that would be mounted on the inside of a person’s wrist and stay on for about six months at a time.
Mia was hoping she could opt out of the new device. The wearable electronic key cards contained flexible circuitry that could send and receive information. With the right app on a cell phone, anyone could control whatever functionality was built into the e-tattoo. In other words, iCon executives and security people would have the capability of tracking the location of every one of their Team Members once the device was applied. Mia wondered how far from the building this tracking would work. Would it work if you were near a WiFi hotspot? What about satellites too? Maybe iCon could track your location anywhere. However, her main concern was the adhesive. Hoping to find answers, Mia called Ralph Bardolf, head of iCon security. “Ralph, I need to ask a favor. Can you find out if the glue which adheres the new e-tattoo to skin contains soy or any chemical derived from soybeans in it? I’m allergic and won’t be able to have any adhesive which contains soy on my skin for such an extended period of time.”
Ralph said, “Sure thing. I’ll do some investigating and get back to you. In the meantime, I’ll make sure your key card stays active until we find out. Everyone else’s will be turned off when the e-tattoo system goes live in two weeks.”
There was also an email stating that the fencing salle in the annex to Stark Gymnasium on the former Edgestow campus would now be open for practice M–F, 11am–3:30pm, 6pm–8:30pm, and weekends, 9am–2pm. iCon was making the entire college’s sports complex (basketball courts, swimming pool, weight room, yoga and exercise rooms, fencing arena) open to anyone living or working in Barrow Heights. This was good news! Mia missed practicing with the people from the old Edgestow College Fencing Club, and missed the coach, Grant Hartwig, who had moved with his family (Tess and baby Madison) to La Crosse where he found a position teaching philosophy part time as an adjunct professor. She called up Helen Travers, an ex-colleague from Edgestow College, who now worked in iCon’s Research and Development lab in Noonan Hall, to see if she wanted to do some bouting.
“I might go sometime on a Saturday,” Helen said, “but I can’t get away during the day. They don’t like us leaving our work area, even during lunch, although you’d think it would be your own time to do with as you’d like. But not at this place. It’s not an actual rule, but I get the skunk eye whenever I leave. If I have a meeting in another part of the building, I always leave a note on my desk explaining where I am going to be. Otherwise, when I get back, I get the third degree about where I was. I’m sorry, but it’s not possible for me to go. Such a disappointment! It would be fun to do some bouting. I haven’t fenced in ages.”
Mia was sympathetic. “Working in corporate America isn’t much like being professor at a liberal arts college, is it. That’s why I want to do some fencing. Maybe I can work off some of the feelings caused by similar restrictions I’ve run into in my department. Oh, that reminds me. I wanted to tell you that I won’t be going to the state amateur fencing competition this year. Instead, I’ll be at a conference in Miami Beach, the BMI Rising Technology Congress. For work. But there’s a scheduling conflict with the tourney. No way I can be in two places at once.”
“That’s such a shame!” Helen replied. “I was hoping you could defend your title.”
“I know. Me too!” Mia said. “But what can I do? Maybe we can go together on a Saturday sometime soon.”
“That would be wonderful! Give me a call next time you go.”
At lunch time, Mia decided to make the ten minute round trip run to her house to get her equipment so she could start fencing right away. On her way out of the lobby, she noticed that several senators and representatives from surrounding states were at the front desk. One of their aides asked the receptionist to call Damien Cezary’s office and let him know that they had arrived. Eating a soy-free power bar in the car on the way back, Mia drove through the iCon parking lot over to the college’s parking lot near Stark Gymnasium, parked, locked her purse in the trunk, then ran to the fencing annex and up the stairs to the locker room to dress in her white jacket, knickers, stockings, and shoes that weren’t supposed to match.
When she entered the fencing salle, she saw that there was a group doing a new age ritual in the space in front of the mostly empty stands. A couple dozen women had formed a solid circle, several rows rotating as a group, all walking in the same direction. The inner-most ring of women clasped left hands raised in the air, the outer rows placing their left hand on the shoulder of someone closer in. All were waving their right hand up and down, chanting, “Ohmmm, ohmmm,” while they walked. One woman standing to the side started a sing-song chant, several others adding a counterpoint:
— “Oh, yes! All sing praises to the goddess.”
— “Imagine how this flower we’re making looks from her perspective above us.”
— “What must she see looking down at us!”
— “So beautiful. So beautiful.”
— “We’re all one soul, lost in desires, yet a unity.”
Mia wondered, “What is that all about? Why are they doing that here?” As she walked toward the other fencers gathered near the fencing strips, she looked back over her shoulder at the new age group. Floating above the women, glowing in the beams of sunshine streaming in through the windows just under the roof line, she saw the hazy image of a single eye, outlined and stylized, like you’d see on the walls of an Egyptian pyramid. She turned around to see better, but the image of the eye disappeared as she tried to focus on it. “Weird!” she thought.
Starting her warm up, Mia saw several people from iCon come into the fencing salle that she hadn’t personally met yet, including Ralph Bardolf, head of security. He was a fifty-something man with thinning red hair, average height, stocky build. Seeing he was carrying a saber, Mia introduced herself and asked him if he would be interested in some light bouting. After they dueled to a 2-2 tie, they saluted each other. Ralph said, “Let’s quit before attempting la belle and skip the winning touch, shall we? Challenging sword play, Mia. Thanks for the bout.” She replied, “Yes, challenging workout. We’ll have to bout again.”
Next, Mia was asked to bout by Michael Ker
n, a recent addition to the IT Department. The duel was both fun and frustrating because he was a really good sabrist who devised cunning strategies that would leave her out of position to make the needed parry for his attack time after time. He won the bout, 3-0.
Taking a break after their bout, Mia and Michael sat on the second row of the bleachers. A little out of breath, Mia took off her mask. “I need a breather! You mopped the floor with me! Where’d you learn to be fence like that? You’re out of my league!”
Taking off his mask, Michael laughed, “Don’t worry — I was trying my hardest! I saw you in that open class tournament here last January, and I wasn’t about to give you a chance to try one of your moulinet tricks on me! I used to fence on my college team, back East. There are a lot of colleges and universities back there that are into fencing — Ivy League and other large university conferences, smaller regional conferences. It’s too bad there’s not very many fencing clubs here in the Midwest, because people are missing out on a great opportunity.”
“You’re right about fencing not being common around here,” Mia said. “Maybe that’s because by the time people started settling here in Iowa, swords weren’t very common unless you had been in the cavalry in the Old World, so not something you’d bring with you to America. However, Edgestow College had a fencing tradition from its very beginning, its founder bringing a love for all things pertaining to chivalry with him from England. The fencing club was one of the reasons I decided to teach at Edgestow College. My family — I have a many times great grandfather who was a cavalry officer in the Prussian army. My dad inherited his sword, has it hanging on the wall of his study. I was able to track down one exactly like it online, and I treasure it. I’ve always thought it would be awesome to someday have the same skills as a cavalry officer.”
No Geek Rapture for Me_I'm Old School Page 14
