I missed a company event yesterday because I chose to watch the birth of my child instead. So I’m walking on eggshells this morning as I punch the clock at the Tesla plant. Eggshells? No, as I bend down and look more closely, I see I’m walking through a shallow river of raw sewage flowing across the factory floor.
I duck into the locker room to change my soiled shoes and pants. I can hear muffled moaning. It’s coming from the showers. I peek around the corner. A bunch of black Tesla engineers are scrubbing the floor. They’ve got it easy. At least they have pants on. The white women are forced to scrub the floor wearing nothing but pink thongs every day except casual Fridays, when they’re totally naked.
Back on the floor, the factory seems a little giddy. Everyone is giggling. Of course! The food truck just came. That’s where everyone gets their daily pharma fix. Everyone is happy after the food truck visits, but the error rate goes way up. In fact, last week the piles of defective parts and punctured batteries blocked the food truck. See the vicious cycle?
Wait — I’m being called to the parking lot. That’s ominous. Yes — I knew it. They’ve set up an altar and Elon is putting on his hood. It’s time for a human sacrifice, and it’s me this time. So the recruiter was right when he said working for Tesla would require a bit of human sacrifice. I guess this is my comeuppance for missing that company event yesterday. Oh well. Time to punch out for the day. Or maybe it doesn’t matter at this point.
— This dramatization sponsored by the UAW, based on actual events