‘Check Your Humanity’

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McKain! MCKAIN!! I got into my dream internship. My path to glory and professional success was guaranteed.

In vast glass fishbowl-like rooms, my fellow interns and I swam each morning to a hot desk of our choosing.

Even the privacy of cubicles was too much after the latest efficiency enhancement effort. ‘By removing dividers, we can fit an additional five interns per room. What progress!’ The office manager crowed when it was announced, their raise assured.

I put my Tumi backpack with its McKain corporate-branded logo down each day on the right-hand side of my desk as I saw the others do. My navy blue Brooks Brothers suit and black military-shined Florsheim wingtips made me feel at home. While not officially required, we all knew we needed to fit the mold.

But two months in and the honeymoon glow had lost its luster. I needed more.

It began when I stapled the PowerPoint decks vertically vs. horizontally. For the first time in ages, those ninety degrees felt like freedom.

That day, within the crisp cream walls of McKain, I found something more beautiful than the office’s art deco furniture and priceless art—my soul. That bright crimson jelly filling to the corporate donut which made me feel whole again.

Erroneously aligned staples gave way to sans-serif fonts in the afternoon. Caliente calibri was now my jam. I even imagined one day I’d go extra-risqué with heady Helvetica. Ta ta times new roman!

People noticed something was different almost immediately but couldn’t quite put their finger on it. Was it my insouciant swagger as I headed to the printer? The way my staples glinted in full silver glory in their cheeky placement as I handed them out at the Pickerel client meeting? Or perhaps it was that my clandestine activities had given me a newfound lease on life as fresh as first love’s kiss?

Whatever it was, I was drawing attention in all the right ways.

Until that fateful moment when my boss summoned me to her office.

I knocked gently, avoiding my trademark non-standard third rap.

“Come in.”

“You wanted to see me, Carol?”

Her face grave, she spoke in the measured tone middle managers reserve for when they want to project anger and control. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve heard some disturbing rumors today that you’ve, well, been acting human.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, ‘human.’”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I was—“

“Not. Here. You. Aren’t.” Carol looked side to side to ensure we weren’t being watched before continuing conspiratorially. “Look, there’s a reason this place is nicknamed ‘the Borg.’ You can be ‘you’ in your downtime within reason, but not at work. Here, you represent McKain down to how you staple and what fonts you use.”

“You heard about that?”

“Yes. I mean, what’s next—off-brand colors in decks?” she laughed. “You’ve already gone too far.”

“Funny you mention that. I was eying a lovely #FF00FF magenta.”

Carol fainted, as I ran.

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WC: 499

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