Lackey
by Keely Hyslop—Age 23—San Diego, CA
Heather was let go last week. The only reason any of us knew was that the troll who lives in human resources arrived at her desk with a box and an assistant and began packing up her things. Heather has two children and an asthmatic brother who was seriously considering lying to get into the army. She writes children’s books in her spare time. That’s about all I know about her. Her desk, pristine and empty, sits directly in front of my own. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it. Her desk feels like a memorial or an omen.
At my company there are no cubicles. The desks are arranged in little islands like a fourth grade classroom and each desk has a computer. Ergonomics is very important to the company. We get ergonomically evaluated every couple of months to make sure our chairs are adjusted properly, our keyboards and mice in the optimal position, even posture can be a factor. The operation to treat carpal tunnel syndrome is very expensive, so the company does what it can to preserve our health. All the same, in a department of a little over thirty writers I have not yet spoken to someone who has not experienced some form of wrist pain.
My job is to write content for the websites that my company sells to plastic surgeons. Few people think about the billion-dollar industry that has built up around women who want new noses, larger breasts, tighter faces, flatter stomachs; men who want stronger chins, tighter abs, fewer forehead creases. After working here for four months I have become an unwitting industry expert.
I’ve seen pictures of the nose being lifted off the face in order to manipulate the bones and cartilage that lie beneath. I know that the thread lift procedure has a rare complication where the barbed sutures that gently lift the face can spontaneously burst through the skin. Doctors inject diluted neurotoxin into specific facial muscles to partially paralyze them to prevent wrinkle-producing facial expressions.
I read poems online throughout the day as a reward for finishing a website or as a distraction. It’s a violation of the company’s recreational internet use policy. Some days when I’ve been staring at the computer too long I start to feel like I’m living in an artificial world filled with artificial people. I read more poems.
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