by Michael Bray
“What about them?”
“Returns, lots of them.”
“Do we know why?”
“Take your pick. They aren’t functioning properly, the software is faulty, it’s a god damn mess.”
Johnson nodded, but wasn’t initially concerned. Even with the greatest care, some products would slip through the gaps and be shipped faulty, and a small number of returns would be expected. He relaxed a little, and without waiting for an invite, sat opposite Crockett.
“It is to be expected sir, especially for a product like Tilly, where the construction is so complex.”
“Then what the hell do I pay you for?” He said, narrowing his eyes “Aren’t you supposed to be head of quality control?”
“Yes sir I am, and as I said, we would expect, even with the greatest care and attention to have a small number of returns, and assigned a two percent allowance in the budget to reflect that.”
Johnson was pleased with himself, and it seemed that he had, for the time being, silenced his overpowering boss. But Crockett's look of indifference became a sneer, and he slid a single sheet of paper across the desk.
“My math may not be that great.” Crockett said, as his sneer morphed into a smug grin. “But I would say that the number of returns equals more than a two percent margin.”
Johnson picked up the sheet of paper, and let his eyes take in the numbers as his brain crunched and processed them. As he read, he felt his heart rate increase.
“This can’t be right.” He said as he looked over the paper at Crockett.
“Oh its right, I had the figures double checked.”
“But this is…” He tried to work out the figure, and was almost there when Crockett said it for him.
“Seventy three percent is the number you are trying to reach.”
Johnson looked at Crockett, and for a few seconds there was silence.
“That’s not possible.” Johnson said as he looked again at the paper clutched in his hands. “We were thorough, we always are.”
“In this case, it seems you missed something big.”
“Maybe it’s a bad batch of processors, or a faulty part affecting a small number of products.”
Crockett nodded, and Johnson was sure that this line of enquiry had already been considered.
“Well that sheet is just for Ridgefield. We were thinking the same thing, but now reports are coming in from all over the world of these damn dolls being returned in droves. This could cost us millions.”
“What are the reasons given for their return?”
“That’s the thing.” Crocket said with a sigh. “Nobody knows. Hell, some stores are getting forty or fifty back a day, some people aren’t even asking for refunds, they are just dumping the damn things.”
Johnson felt nauseous, and suspected that the blame, rightly or wrongly was about to land firmly at his feet.
“So how do we proceed with this?”
Crockett opened his desk drawer, and tossed a map towards Johnson.
“That’s one of our warehouses over in Oakwell. We are keeping all of the returns there, but the place is starting to look like some kind of damn doll graveyard.”
Johnson looked at the map, and then back to Crockett, sure of what was coming but hoping he was wrong.
“Might be an idea to send Davies over to take a look.” Johnson said, trying to keep casual. “He designed the processor chip in the Tilly range, so if anybody can find out what’s wrong it’s him.”
Crockett grinned again, and licked his thin lips.
“We sent him up there last week to try and find out what the hell is going on. This morning he calls me and resigns. No explanation, no notice, just tells me he’s done and hangs up the phone.”
“But Davies has been with the company for years, he wouldn’t just quit for no reason.”
“You would think not, but quit he did, which leaves us with a huge problem. The shareholders are on my ass to fix this before the press get a hold of the story and crucify us, and the power structure dictates that they give me shit, I delegate said shit out to my staff, which brings me to you.”
“I could send some of my team out there, see if they can look into it.”
“No.” Crockett said, shaking his head. “I want you to go personally.”
Johnson hesitated, trying to think of an excuse to get out of it.
“Okay, no problem. I can head up there next week and take a look.”
“That’s not good enough Tom. I need you to go up there tonight and find out what the hell the problem is.”
“Can’t this wait until after the weekend sir? I have plans tonight.”
“Frankly, I don’t give a shit. Cancel them.”
“I don’t see what the rush is here, give me a day or two and I’ll head up there and take a look, it’s almost a hundred miles to Oakwell. You can’t expect me to just drop everything and drive across the country.”
“Eighty three miles, actually.” Crockett snapped. “But that’s beside the point. I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation Tom, so I’m going to lay it out for you nice and clear.”
Crockett’s cheeks had flushed, and his lips were pursed together. He looked close to losing it, and so Johnson remained silent.
“What you need to know.” He started, pointing across the desk “Is that, until this problem — this major design flaw that you and your people apparently missed — is fixed, production is halted. Until it starts again, we are losing over a hundred and twenty grand per day in revenue, not to mention what we are paying out in wages for staff who are, as we speak sitting at home on their asses and waiting for the okay to get back to work. The way things are headed, we are going to be in the hole financially on this entire project before the end of the month. Now somebody has to be responsible, and so I suggest that you, as head of quality control, is to be that person.”
Crockett pointed a chubby finger at Johnson.
“So I’m giving you a choice. You can either go out there today and find out what’s going on with this damn product, or you can keep to the plans you have made, and first thing tomorrow start looking for a new job. Have I made myself clear enough?”
For a split second, Johnson had the urge to tell Crockett to shove his job up his arrogant ass, but he knew that it would be stupid, and although it would be satisfying in the short term, it was a bad idea. Instead, he nodded.
“Okay, I didn’t realise it was such a big deal. I’ll go and check it out and find out what’s going on over there.”
“Good.” Crockett said with an arrogant smile. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
Johnson stood, picked up the map, and crossed the office.
“Oh Tom.” Crockett said. “If you don’t fix this problem, then I’m sorry to have to tell you that it could cost you your job.”
Crockett didn’t sound sorry. In fact, he was smiling, the arrogance rolling off him as he leaned back in his chair and relaxed.
Asshole.
“Why me?” Johnson asked.
“Because if we can’t fix it, somebody will have to take the fall.”
“And I say again. Why me?”
Crockett didn’t answer; instead, he smiled and folded his hands on his desk, but the message was clear enough. It was how businesses like this worked. The top dogs never took the fall, it was always the little people down the chain, the ones who worked hardest that paid the penalty. Johnson realised that Crockett was staring at him, and that he in turn was still standing in the office.
“You better get going Tom, it’s a long drive. Call me as soon as you have some information.”
“Absolutely sir. You can count on me.”
“I hope so, because if not, we are screwed.”
Oakwell was one of those sleepy, one street towns with red brick buildings, and neat, tidy houses. The modern world had so far not slammed the town with corporate branding, and as he navigated down Main Street, Johnson thought that he could well have dr
iven back to another era -Twilight Zone style- perhaps to the fifties or early sixties.
He wasn’t quite sure how to get to the warehouse, and thought it best to check with one of the locals that he was on the right track before Gloria woke up and gave him another ear bashing for ruining their night. He pulled over to the sidewalk, and rolled down the window. There was on older man heading towards him, walking a scruffy looking Jack Russell terrier with a pink bow tied behind its ears.
Johnson verified that he was indeed on the right track, and the local told him that he needed to go through the village, past the forest and he would see the signs for the warehouse. He thanked the man and was on his way again, when Gloria stirred and woke.
“What time is it?” She asked as she rubbed sleep out of her eyes.
“Just after eight. You have been out for a while.”
He looked at her, and although she wasn’t what would be deemed conventionally beautiful, she had a certain something that appealed to him. He thought it might be what he referred to as her ‘natural’ beauty. She wasn’t the type to go overboard with make-up, and even so she was looked upon enviously by her fellow females, as her skin was clean and smooth, enhanced by the scatter of freckles across her nose. At twenty-three, she was thirteen years younger than Johnson, but intellectually they were similar, sharing a love for fine dining and opera, which was a world away from his home life where the weekly topic of conversation was the comings and goings on the latest reality TV show. She looked at him, her eyes a stunning blue-green.
“How long is this going to take?” She said as she lit a cigarette.
He could tell that although she was still pissed at him, she seemed to have calmed down a little.
“Not long. Crockett is on my ass to fix this tonight.”
“You should tell that sack of shit to do it himself if it’s so important.”
“It’s my job Gloria, I had no choice.”
“Yeah, well your job has screwed up our night. You should just quit, you are way too good for that place.”
“You know I can’t quit.”
“Oh yeah, wifey wouldn’t approve.” She sneered.
“Hey come on, we agreed that we wouldn’t talk about my other life when we are together.”
She didn’t say anything, and turned away to look out of the window. They drove on in silence. There was little traffic, and apart from a cherry red convertible full of rowdy teens that overtook them way too fast, and too close for comfort, the road was empty. The green spires of Oakwell Forest rolled past on his right, and eventually, he saw the slip road leading towards the industrial area. He maneuvered the car down the rutted, dirt road.
“Jesus, haven’t they heard of blacktop here?” Gloria muttered.
“I doubt there would be much call for it here.”
He passed a hulking industrial laundry on his right, and then a little further down, the sweet smell of sawdust heralded the lumber mill, a huge concrete structure which looked eerie in its deserted state. Gloria had noticed it too.
“The place is a ghost town.” She said as she watched the building roll past.
“They will all be closed up. I guess by mid-afternoon the workers down tools and whole area is empty.”
“Will anyone be at this warehouse to meet us?”
“No, it’s used for storage, and even then it’s only ever staffed at Christmas. The rest of the year, it sits empty.” He saw the roof of the building appear in the distance. “There it is.”
They pulled up at the warehouse, a rectangular slab of concrete with steel roller shutter doors. When it was operational, it housed a hundred and fifty dedicated staff who were responsible for local distribution. Johnson had visited once before, but that was in December and the place was a hive of activity, which couldn’t be further from the heavy silence as he shut off the car’s engine.
“Is nobody even here to meet us?” Gloria asked as she leaned forwards in her seat to peer out of the window.
“No, there is nobody here on a weekend. It’s just us.”
“You aren’t supposed to work weekends.” She said, glaring at him.
“Look, Gloria, I know you aren’t happy about this and neither am I, but I didn’t have a choice. Let’s just get this over and done with and be on our way. Okay?”
“Yeah, well it looks like I don’t have a choice.”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer, exiting the car and making sure to slam the door to emphasise her annoyance. Johnson sighed, tried to push his headache away. He took a moment to compose himself, then grabbed the warehouse keys from the glove compartment, and exited the car.
The air was cool, and the breeze pulled at Johnsons coat as he walked towards the door. He leafed through the tangle of keys he had been given, selected the correct one and unlocked the door, remembering to punch in the alarm key combination as he entered and switched on the lights.
They were in a short reception hallway with another locked door at the end. Johnson walked towards it, pushed through into the main workspace, and immediately drew breath.
The cavernous space was filled with Tilly dolls. The ones that had been returned in the original packaging were stacked on several wooden pallets. The loose returns were in dozens of cloth bins, which were filled almost to overflowing with the toys.
Before he had seen it for himself, Johnson had half an idea that Crockett had been overdramatising, but as he stood there, he understood why his boss had perhaps been a little short tempered with him.
“That’s a lot of dolls.” Gloria mumbled as she checked her Twitter account on her phone.
“Yeah, you got that right. Must be something fundamental that’s wrong with them for so many to come back.”
Gloria nodded, and walked over to one of the bins, picking up a doll and looking it over.
“So what’s the gimmick with these?” She asked as she turned the lifelike doll over in her hands.
He crossed the room to join her, and took the doll.
“Well, these are different to other dolls on the market. For starters, they aren’t made of plastic, and they have a steel skeleton with a latex composite body over the top. We designed the frame to mimic the human body, so it can articulate in the same way we can. Here, I’ll show you.”
“If it works.” She said, flashing him a seductive smile that told him that he might well be approaching forgiveness.
Johnson turned the doll over, and flicked the on off switch located on the back of its neck. It sprang to life, opening and closing its tiny hands and wrinkling its nose with freakishly lifelike accuracy. Johnson set it down on the floor and it began to walk in jerky, ponderous movements.
“It looks so real, but the walk is off.” Gloria said, as she stared at the doll as it walked in its Frankenstein lumber.
“Yeah, the walk cycle needs work. The initial selling point was the expression engine that made them behave realistically, and the eye cameras that made them remember their owner.”
Gloria touched her finger to the dolls hand, and it gently grasped her fingertip.
“That’s pretty amazing.” Gloria said with a smile. “It almost feels real.”
“That’s the point, although I would move your finger just in case.”
“Of what?”
“Well, until I find out what the fault is, I don’t want to risk that gentle grasp turning into one that could break your finger.”
She flipped him her middle finger, and pulled her other hand free as Johnson grinned and took the doll over to the supervisor’s office and set it on the desk.
“So what now?” Gloria asked as she sat on the couch at the rear of the room.
“Now.” He said as he slid the toolbox out from under the table. “I find out what’s wrong with these things.”
“All of them?”
“No, don’t worry, not them all.” He said with a grin. “One should suffice to find the issue, I can verify my findings on a second model, and then we can get out of here.”
“They seem to be working fine to me.”
“Yeah, I can’t see anything wrong yet either.”
The Tilly doll turned its head slightly, and looked past Johnson.
“Hi, Gloria.” It said with its robotic voice.
“What the hell was that?” She said to Johnson, as she stared at the doll.
Johnson couldn’t hide his smile.
“It’s normal; it has a microphone inside the hairline that picks up sounds whilst the doll is activated. It’s designed to listen for names and remember them.”
“Well it’s creepy, and I don’t like it.”
“Kids love it; it makes the entire experience more real. Check this out.”
He held the doll up in front of him and looked into its eyes as he spoke.
“Hi, I’m Tom, what’s your name?”
The doll turned back to him, its rubberised mouth moving as it replied.
“Hi, I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we play together?”
Johnson glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Gloria, who didn’t seem impressed. Undeterred, he continued.
“Do you know my name?”
The doll blinked and turned its head as the canned response came from its lips.
“You are Tom, and I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can I play with Gloria now?”
Johnson turned towards Gloria, who was watching with vague interest.
“It seems Tilly here wants to play.” He said, holding the doll out towards her.
“Yeah, well Tilly can wait, and if Tom Johnson wants to play later, he better hurry his ass up and get to work.”
She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows, and he grinned in return.
“Sorry, Tilly.” He said as he turned the doll face down on the desk. “But that’s an offer I just can’t refuse.”
“Hi, I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we play together?”
Tom selected a screwdriver and began to unscrew the panel in the Tilly back, as it continued to speak into the table.
“Hi, I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we play together?”
“Hi, I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we play together?”
“Hi, I’m Tilly Greeneyes. Can we play together?”
