“You think this is bad? This is nothing. There’s another job that’s functionally worse. In another area is a stream of endless rancid trash poured out of a hole in the ceiling from who knows where. The layout is not that much different from what’s here. The difference being we’re supposed to sift through stuff on the conveyor belt. Anything that looks potentially readable is put in the high-risk pile. Oftentimes, someone’ll get too curious, read some of the material, and become irrevocably corrupted. Even a single line can reduce someone to madness. To say nothing of the reactions when someone hears the musical language capable of changing minds, spurring the masses and inspiring revolutions. No wonder they need to be banned. At such times, judgement from above is deemed necessary to relieve them from their suffering.”
This was a lot for her to absorb at once, and the Girl had trouble understanding what the Stocky Woman was saying over all the noise. “What do you do again?”
The Stocky Woman simplified it for her. “Anything that looks potentially interesting is put aside.”
“How can you tell if you’re dealing with anything important?”
“The biggest hint is when the writing is moving.”
The Girl didn’t see what was so unusual about this. Words were always jumping around, flickering in and out, constantly changing their meanings. Letters would suddenly flip around wthouit wnaring. lowercase words wld bcm (WLD BCM) Uppercase Abbreviations. Letters would suddenly turn into n∪mb3rs. And the context would change depending on the tone, mood or deeper underlying meaning spoken. It was a wonder anybody could make sense out of all that.
“That must be annoying. How do you deal with it?”
“I try not to pay too much attention to what’s written. It’s safer that way.”
The Girl was disappointed. She was hoping to get a strategy for how to deal with this annoyance, and didn’t get the answer she was looking for. “Safer how?”
“If you stare at the Alien text for too long, it can corrupt and influence you. Then, you’ll have to be taken out”, the Stocky Woman said, pointing upwards.
The Girl looked up, and saw that the ceiling, rather than being layered with circular tiles, was actually just the surface of hammers dangling overhead that could be dropped down at any moment. The Stocky Woman was quite knowledgeable about the ins and outs of the Factory, and was far more helpful in teaching her how to work effectively than the Foremen who constantly berated anyone not working hard enough to their satisfaction.
“The metallic stuff and tubing can be reused, so put them in that box there. The other stuff you can leave well enough alone. Don’t worry if you don’t get it at first. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
Despite their narrow size, there seemed to be no limit to the amount of material that could fit in these tiny boxes. It wasn’t until later that she found out they were just openings that led to further conveyor belts where they were further sifted and organized through an elaborate process too complicated to comprehend.
There was only a five-minute break for lunch and going to the bathroom, which resulted in a frenzied rush from the many remaining staff making the most of their brief time. The Stocky Woman had this routine down to a science, and was able to not only simultaneously eat and pee, but also save her stall for the Girl once she was done. The Girl barely had enough time to pee on command, and was forcibly ejected before she could wipe herself down. Returning to her station, she stuffed bathroom papers down her work uniform to absorb any runoff moisture.
Despite this stressful ordeal, the Stocky Woman admitted that she was relieved at the short break, since “I get anxious if I stand around doing nothing for too long. I don’t know what to do with so much time on my hands. Well, I do, but it’s not appropriate for work.”
Leaving that disturbing personal admission aside, the Girl tried to concentrate on the job. She was feeling extremely hungry, and hadn’t eaten anything in a long while, and even the stuff in front of her was starting to smell good. In her delirious haste of her haze, she brushed some of the offending material across her mask, and some fell inside her mouth. She expected to be repelled by the texture, but was surprised to find that it tasted familiar. Where was it? It was a distant memory borne from a lifetime ago...
Then she took an unintended whiff, trying to bypass her own body odor, and recalled where she’d tasted it before - in the outskirts of Memory Bane. That Food Cart she encountered wasn’t really a Food Cart - she should’ve suspected as much - it was a Garbage Truck. And she was sifting through the waste.
Even though she felt immensely embarrassed at being seen, she still snuck bits and pieces of barely edible foodstuff when she was confident no one was looking.
Then the day was finally over, and she looked forward to finding a place to lie down and relax. She’d need that energy to continue for the next day. It was fortunate for her that she only chose the part-time position instead of full-time. She was amazed at the endurance of the veteran workers who could continue working for long ceasing hours without dropping.
On her way out, she stuffed the heavy-duty protective layer known as her work clothes she’d been wearing all day in the locker. It was a tremendous relief to finally be free of that confining sweat prison. Now she was free to scratch her itchy body parts in relief. Once that was over and done with, she was looking forward to a nice hot shower. Too bad there were none at the Factory.
She’d gotten dressed in her regular clothes after spraying copious amounts of deodorant to mask the smell, and was just about to leave through the main entrance, when she was suddenly stopped by an alarm that rang throughout the place. Apparently, somebody had done something wrong, and she was looking forward to not being the target until she realized that everybody was looking at her.
“What do you have in your bag there?”
“My supplies.”
“Let’s have a look.”
She handed it over, and watched as the Foreman tore through her contents looking for the cause. She wouldn’t have put it past him to have hidden some contraband inside there as she worked. That was until he cast a grim expression on his face when he found the offending material, and held it up for her to see.
It was something she’d completely forgotten - the extra food the Tattooed Man had given her. What had triggered the alarm was the can that she’d kept while lost in Memory Bane.
“This is yours?”
There was no point in pleading ignorance at this point. “It’s mine, but it was given to me outside.”
“You’re working here, and you don’t know about the history of our product? How did you get this job in the first place?”
“It’s my first day.”
“And you’ve abused our trust by stealing from us.”
She closed her eyes, pressing fingers against her forehead. “Okay, walk me through your train of logic here. On my very first day here, I somehow managed to smuggle some of the food in this place, trapping it inside a container, even though I have no access to that area, using an older brand that you no longer produce?”
“It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
“Wouldn’t it be far easier for me to eat it instead?”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you? You’ve obviously been planning this beforehand.”
She threw her hands up in exasperation. No matter what she did, it just seemed to exacerbate her guilt. If she said nothing, she was guilty. If she pointed out the holes in their logic, she was guilty. They were ready to declare her without considering the other facts. All that mattered was that she had a can of their stuff in her bag. That was all the evidence they needed.
Just then, the Stocky Woman who she’d been working with suddenly showed up, and proclaimed, “It’s not her fault. That can’s mine.”
The Foreman looked at her skeptically. “Do you realize the seriousness of your claim?”
“I do.”
“And you’re prepared to do the punishment that follows?”
“I am.”
He sighed. “Very well then. You’re assigned ten extra hours of overtime to make up the loss.”
“Thank you.”
As the Stocky Woman walked outside, the Girl followed along, reaching her once the two of them were outside.
“Why did you do that?”
“We’ve got something in common. I’ll talk to you later.”
On the street was a large truck that was being continuously filled with many of the workers who’d completed their last shift at the Factory, all presumably headed for the same doomed location. The Girl watched helplessly as the Stocky Woman got on the vehicle, and upon reaching a window seat, promptly fell asleep.
When everybody was boarded, the doors closed in front of the Girl who saw the vehicle drive off in the distance. She felt it her responsibility to keep an eye on the truck for as long as possible. She owed the Stocky Woman that much.
Then, she watched in confusion as the Bus did a U-turn, and headed back the way it came, stopping in front of the street opposite where she was standing.
When the bus door opened, the workers inside made their way to the other side of the Factory. As she got off, the Stocky Woman did an odd stretching movement consisting of slowly raising one arm up with her hand in a duckbill position. Then, like the scales of Justice, simultaneously dropped it down as she raised the other arm up.
“Mmm. I needed that!”
“Wha... but... you only went around the block! You didn’t even reach the block! You just circled back!”
“Really? It felt longer than that.”
“Keep back”, a guard said, keeping the Girl from getting any closer from where she wasn’t allowed admittance. Amidst all the workers there, the guard was efficient in singling her out.
“Why is she working there?! Isn’t this the same factory??”
“Oh, I see your confusion. Yes, the corridors are all connected to the same building. But they’re all different corporations, each dealing with separate functions in a completely different manner from each other. Only the owner is the same.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You should be thanking them for giving you the opportunity to work for them!”, the guard roared. And he turned his attention away from the Girl to focus on the throng of workers obediently making their way inside. Once everybody was accounted for, he grabbed the sides of the factory doors and slammed them shut.
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