This week we started going back to the office 2 days per week, by department. Our biometric finger print access has been disabled to reduce the number of touch points around the office, so there is no longer an accurate recording of our comings and goings. This piece was pulled from memories of jobs I have hated (only two as I recall – although neither was in a biscuit factory!) and as a result, I have kept the promise to myself that is expressed in the final line.
She pulled the buff time-card out of the rack on the factory wall and punched it into the clock. Her tardiness was recorded in red, adding to the columns where black digits made an infrequent appearance.
She hated this job and couldn’t motivate herself to make it to work on time. Each day when she woke up she did an inventory of her arms, legs, fingers and toes, her ears, nose and throat, checking for any ailments that might warrant her calling in sick.
Her personnel file showed a woeful attendance and time keeping record and the supervisor never missed an opportunity to remind her of the fact, but still they kept her on. Few people were desperate enough to perform the repetitive task of plucking misshapen biscuits off the line.
She vowed she would never in her life again take a job she didn’t go to with joy in her heart.
