Life Stock

When the announcement was made Robert went numb. As a high earner with status to boot, a total reset of employment and the job market wasn’t exactly in his favor. Robert had hit something of a private, personal, custom-made shellshock.

That was certainly how he felt in the days that followed. Sanitation workers and inner city school teachers were jubilant across social media channels #NewLifeHereICome. Delivery drivers and personal support workers were no less elated, birthing their own TikTok trend. “The Finale” involved displaying and dismissing their final paycheck to the camera (oftentimes with a colorfully worded limerick), before buying a round for the entire bar they were in and toasting the new life ahead. Robert, however, was not feeling so exultant about the seismic change.

He wasn’t alone. There were hundreds of thousands, who, having their 9-5 (or more) taken from them, felt wholly bereft. People openly admitted it in online forums. Even those who were understimulated, or verged on disdaining their jobs, were dreading the prospect of the unknown. There was the comfort of the familiar that so many shared irrespective of its quality. Many made comparisons to the lockdowns of the COVID-19 pandemic, that maybe the time off before the next chapter would bring a different perspective. And then there were the few… the few who really did love their jobs or felt it firmly anchored their identity, who couldn’t shake the dread of what was to come.

Robert came home that night to his wife of 12 years, Marie. She knew him in her gut, could feel him, often more able to identify his feelings than he himself could. Robert wasn’t a go-getter, a strident male. He was perfectly charming when out of his head and grasping his own quiet confidence, but… this was a man who wanted things simple and free of uncertainty. Marie chose Robert for this very clear bottom line of his character; Robert Jessop was relaxed and dependable. 

Marie knew this was a painfully uncomfortable time for him. He was borderline mute the evening of the announcement. Marie took it in stride like many others had. She’d had to adapt and claw for everything she’d earned in life. Robert not so much. He was a man who liked the path laid out clearly before him so he could diligently, carefully apply a lifelong perfectionist streak. The “Draft” demanded improvisation and malleability in dimensions yet to be defined. Their usual routine on a Thursday evening was a movie night at home. A warm and cozy nest comprised of blankets, pillows, and bowls of popcorn. That Thursday night, Robert was cold, unblinking, and sans appetite.

The announcement had been rumored. Workplaces, social spaces, and homes were all participating in the conversation– one they had seen on screen after screen, heard on podcast after podcast and witnessed woven into and dodged on podium after podium. AI had gone from replacing some jobs to just gobbling up so many it was dizzying. Job security may have been on the wane in the decades leading up to the Draft, but it had become untenable.

Entire fields were vanishing into computer programs. The knock-on effect on education and vocation was enormous and rapid. The world simply could not keep up. Robert wasn’t glib. He’d gone from doing long hours of case work to completing the repetitive tedium of entering prompts and proofreading AI. When it first arrived, AI helped Robert do his job, but it wasn’t lost on him that it had been the other way around for quite a while. As a legal professional, Robert was quietly hopeful he’d be safe. He was wrong.

Just an email. Cold. Blanketed. Faceless. Factual.

To Whom It May Concern:

This role is no longer statutory.

Make arrangements for departure by the day’s end.

You have been entered into the Draft- 1^st Round.

May you succeed in your future endeavors.

The Government disseminated automated, prerecorded announcements to the public of the Draft. There was no human face or voice to the entire operation. The few bullet points afforded to the public on the Draft and its “1^st Round” were cold comforts. It spoke vaguely of roles including “Adjudicators” and “Assignors.” After three days at home, which Robert mostly spent listlessly plodding about his flat like a toddler lost in a supermarket, the next email would arrive.

Robert was made an “Assignor.” His new job was to give new jobs to people. The pay wasn’t what he previously had, but it wasn’t shabby either. He was informed he was a practical fit for the position’s personnel specifications and that it was an in-person role along with “Adjudicators.” Robert couldn’t help but feel a wave of unease. This entire great transition had arrived ad-hoc through faceless digital means, yet somehow the most febrile part of it required human faces on the front line.

As an Assignor, Robert was in an eerily similar position to his previous. He was aiding an automated process in which present jobs had already been delineated and chosen, but he had to be there face-to-face to inform people of their fates. Marie tried to assure him that his position would be placating to people, that he was the human face of comfort at the end of a big change most didn’t feel prepared for. Robert felt more convinced that he would be performing some bizarre inverse of Zoom call firings from the early 21^st century.

Reading over the job description, there were elements that left him with only questions. The brief outlined “Placebo” roles. These hires were not necessary, were not needed, and were already being performed by automation. Then… why were people also getting assigned these roles? What was the Placebo? Was it AI and machine learning’s way of squeezing more knowledge out of human error, or just a social experiment for only AI’s amusement? 

***

He would never forget the first day at a community center renovated for machine purposes rather than human ones. Community centers used to always be unkempt, charmingly messy– a worn book with folded corners. They revealed a space that had been lived in, appreciated, and occupied by many over the years, but, now, Robert entered a vacuum of a space. Off-white glossed every angle; a crisp echo from every sound made; a sight belonging to a space station instead of planet Earth. He made his way to the desk outlined in the brief, used the login information provided and waited until the line outside bubbled and slowly spilled over inside.

He’d never forget her face. He noticed her before she reached the desk. A haunted, wide-eyed expression standing out from the crowd with dark, deep, mahogany eyes that radiated a hurt sadness. The woman’s aura shone through in a line that breathed anxiety and discomfort, no loud sounds, just a continual collective fidget and darting eyes. The entire line screamed of people who were just bursting to ask questions but didn’t dare speak. There was one glaring issue – there was no Adjudicator. Looking at his brief for the umpteenth time, his eyes didn’t deceive him. Robert was supposed to have a fellow authority figure, they just weren’t present. He took a deep breath, readied himself to start proceeding when a voice boomed from outside.

“‘Scuse me, ‘Scuse me,” a rough male baritone trampled the fragile ambience.

Its source soon strode through, a large, hulking figure of a man. One would assume that a bouncer or cage fighter were his potential former posts. He was  dressed in black, with a loaded utility belt across his waist, and a confident swagger on approach. Upon reaching the desk, he outstretched his large hand towards Robert.

“Alrigh’ boss?,” a near giddy tone produced.

“Yeah… Your name?,” retorted a taken aback Robert.

“Maocum, I’m ‘judicatah. You the assina, right?”

“Uh, yes. Robert.”

A satisfied grin swept across Malcolm’s face. He tucked his thumbs into his belt, which on closer inspection held a stun baton, pepper spray, and a taser.

“Readuh when ya are,” Malcolm near purred in excitement, before turning away in smug satisfaction.

Robert looked out to the line. All eyes were on Malcolm. The air had gone from buzzing with anxiety to stiff and stilted with fear. Robert’s misgivings were true, the deep-seated ones he had held long before the Draft was upon them. It wasn’t that the machines were taking over the world. It was that they couldn’t see the humans living in it. His first day of the Draft was confirmation.

Robert was the bad news while Malcolm was crowd control.