“Payne, you’ll probably burn out within a few months.” She told me that first week. And I can feel it now; the sweat beading on my forehead, the acrid bile in my throat, the gun heavy in my hand. Time stands still and Phoebe just stares at me, emotionless, the burdensome barrel pointed at her; the office behind me poised like the crowd behind the guillotine blade. “It’s what you do with it next that counts…
Three months ago: I’m standing at the front of the conference room staring at a screen, watching a grainy black and white film of a man sharpening a razor blade on a moonlit night. Looking around the room I see impressionable faces of the lost generation; the last-ditch attempt at a job that no one really wants -the last chance saloon. On the screen the man holds a woman’s head and the camera focuses on her eye; a brief cut and the razor blade slit’s the woman’s eye in one swift motion; unflinching -the camera and the woman. The film stops and Trainer Bob looks to me:
“So, fact or fake?” The impossibly tall podgy man asks, matter-of-factly. The rest of the trainee’s look as if they’ve been blanched by the horrific sight. I know better of course.
“Fake.”
“You sound sure of yourself, Payne.” Bob didn’t need to see the obligatory name badges we were all forced to wear. (Some of the more infantile lambs had taken great pains to personalise them, drawing flowers and smiley faces on them) Bob was one of the few people who walked the walk; he wasn’t a trainer by title only. Too many charlatans had learnt their trade by book alone, he ate and slept it. He exuded confidence and cockiness and it was impossible not to like him.
“I’ve seen the film already.” I could hear the scoff’s but Bob’s wry smile confirmed I was right. “Un Chien Andalou; the surrealist masterpiece by Dali and Bunuel.”
“I can see we’re going to get on…” Bob nodded for me to sit back down again; I had passed
the test and it was time for some other poor slob to walk the tightrope. In many ways I got off lightly; I recognised the film and it was an easy spot.. The rest weren’t so easy to distinguish from the real thing.
A ‘Process Content Auditor’ sounds like an interesting job but it’s not -as I soon learnt- but when your job prospects shrink overnight and there’s no chance of a reprieve you’ll take whatever you can get… Ever heard of GeoZone inc?
Nope – they were a brief flash-in-the-pan dot.com bust and were swallowed by Google. I believed in them and sank too much money, time and effort and it all blew back in my face; hence the Process Content Auditor job for Opaque Services. We only had one client in those days, ProCoginator Social Media Enterprises -ProCog for short.
In the initial interview they were impressed with my staying power -I kept with GeoZone until their last day (not that I had any choice) and also my warped sense of humor; the fact that I loved horror movies was an added bonus for them too. I soon learnt that loving horror movies meant nothing when faced with the real thing.
Scott-1 stood up next to the screen and we all watched the scene unfold; bleached shaky-cam footage of another woman prostrate on the floor, blood already pooling around her. The footage was obviously from a micro-cam, somehow affixed to the assailant’s helmet because we were stabbing her. Each blow lovingly placed on her already mangled body; each swipe of the bloodied knife a caress; he’s enjoying this -the pathetic whimpers from the woman spurring on his ecstatic moans and the camera shuddered in time. The training room went deathly silent; no one dared to even breathe. I started to wonder why he hadn’t touched the woman’s face yet; and then I saw his knife start edging to her eyes as the blade got closer…
I lost it then and had to excuse myself. I tried to be as cool and calm about it as I could but it was obvious that I’d failed this particular round; I’m the only one to have buckled under the pressure. But by leaving I’ve acted as a release valve for the rest of them and they can now
laugh and feel better for their own discomfort. I no longer cared; I needed to get to the men’s room before I lost it completely. I barely got there in time. For three minutes I vomited it out never aware that I was actually being watched; I forgot to shut the door behind me.
“You have to be a new fish.” She slyly addressed me and I blanched even more. I cleaned myself off the best I could and got up to face her.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, trying to regain my composure. Her face is too hard edged to be beautiful and her eyes tell me that she’s seen everything too many times to care; but there’s a wrinkle of compassion in her forehead.
“Well… two things really.” She replied, as if she’s talking to a wayward child. “You’re vomiting like you’ve just had your first prom… and you’re in the ladies.” I blushed and apologised, my hard-nosed rookie impression shot down in smoke.
“I couldn’t handle seeing the woman being stabbed…. I’ve… never seen anything like that before. Was it real?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” She countered. “My name’s Phoebe, by the way.”
“Not really, I suppose. I failed the test.”
“You failed part of the test, Payne.” She saw my name badge and knew enough to not make the situation any worse. “We all balk the first time we see images like that -though not in as spectacular fashion as you, admittedly- but it’s how you bounce back that defines you.” This was sound advice and I nodded and thanked her before walking back to the training room. As I left she said, “You’ll probably find you’ve picked up a new nickname. Don’t be surprised if you start getting called ‘Pained’ from now on in.”
“What’s yours then?” I countered.
“Phoenix.”
I walked back to the training room, my head held high. I knew that I was going to get schtick from everyone and there were sniggers, for sure; but most looked sheepishly at me, almost
relieved that I had broken before they had.
“Ah, Pained!” Bob quipped, smiling at me. I could see concern mixed with something else that I couldn’t fathom in his gaze. “Welcome back! Have you had enough or are you here for the duration?”
“It’s not how one falls that’s the defining characteristic…” I had rehearsed this all the way from the toilets and it almost worked. “Its how one bounces back that defines you.”
“Splendid! Say hi to Phoebe the Phoenix next time you see her; she’ll be your mentor moving forward!”
First day on the job; seven in the AM, barely made it in time; but there I am waiting at the bottom of a busy but narrow staircase; and it’s obvious that the night shift has just finished.
“Better push your way through, Pained, otherwise we ain’t gonna get nowhere…” It’s Phoebe, I feel better already just knowing there’s a friendly face and I do as she suggests; just push myself through the masses and no one seems to bat an eyelid. We get to the top and she shows me into what’s called a ‘break room’.
“This is where the breakdowns happen…” She explains. “But as you’ve already had one, Pained, there’s no problem. I just got to run through some quick rules for you.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Pained? Why not? That’s how you’re going to be known for the time being; most of us have got one.” I frown at this and she puts her hand on my arm as she sits me down. “Look… I like you, but there’s no favouritism here.”
“What do you mean, you like me?”
“Bob told me about Un Chien Andalou.. We gonna get along fine.”
“I never said I liked that film, just that I’ve seen it.
“Don’t spoil things so damn fast.” She remonstrated and started telling me the lay of the land. “We clock in at 7am every morning; two 15min breaks and half an hour for lunch. It’s best to
bring something in with you as there’s no real kitchen and you’ll need to allow yourself time to queue for the toilets. You’re also allowed up to nine minutes for ‘wellness breaks’, chosen at your discretion... and, yes you will be monitored! Not by me, necessarily, but there’s always someone wanting to trip up the newbies -so don’t give them the opportunity. There’s also an additional 15 minutes to be used as a ‘prayer-break’ for those religiously inclined. Take them, even if you spit on religion -you’re going to need all the breaks you can get!” I shook my head as this was nothing I expected from the interview. Phoebe smiled and nodded sagely. “You ain’t heard nuttin’ yet. Lockers.. well, there are very few and if you don’t need one then brilliant… but if you do best get in there quick; either start earlier than everyone else or accidentally leave stuff in there overnight…
“You’re not allowed to have any mobile technology on when you’re in the office and definitely no social media open on your desktop -although everyone uses ‘Messaged’ as a shortcut to shouting across the desks.
“No writing utensils are allowed either…” She continued and I could barely draw breath. “Just in case someone writes down a customer’s information, etc… oh yes.. they are that paranoid.” She replied to my unspoken question. “But deservedly so; someone was stupid enough in another company to write down customers details so they could blackmail them with ‘naughty posts’. They were tracked down and dealt with accordingly.”
“But how can I make notes about stuff?” I asked. “I’ve got a terrible memory.”
“You can say a shit memory, if you like -no one stands on ceremony here.” I liked Phoebe immensely.
“Ok.. I have a shit memory.”
“Use the computer’s Sticky Note facility. No one cares about that.”
“What? Isn’t that double standards?”
“Yup -through and through… but name me a place that doesn’t have them. Know the rules and shortcuts now, it’ll be easier on you, Pained.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Get used to it…. Oh yeah – no boxes or bags allowed either. Clear plastic bags only so people can see what you’re carrying…”
“Paranoid much?” I quipped.
“We’re all paranoid here.. and its whether you’re paranoid enough. Stay long enough here and you’ll start to believe the conspiracy theories. You scoff at it now but the flat earthers sit in the far corner, the lizards in another… Personally I believe that the CIA have been running mind control operations for years and the AID’s epidemic was deliberately released in Africa to destroy the black population there. Nothing like a bit of Eugenics to get the juices flowing.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; whether she was being serious or having a laugh at my expense. “Oh… before I forget; in the event of an evacuation keep an eye on Kevin -I’ll point him out to you on the ‘grand tour’ he knows where all the escape points are. Don’t show any weakness though otherwise you might end up on his hit list when the shit goes down; he keeps a gun taped under his desk… but then we all do.”
We sat at her desk and she showed me the system I was going to use: OPA -I couldn’t even be bothered to find out what it stood for, and Phoebe grinned as the screen hummed to life.
“What do you think of my screensaver?” She asked. I couldn’t make it out; it was an abstract mass of pixels, pale pinks and vivid reds; if I squinted it was like a cross-between one of the Magic Eye pictures that had been popular some time back and a Francis Bacon canvas… “What the hell is it?” I asked.
“Stand back a bit and squint again.” I did as she said.
“Fucking hell…It’s a…!”
“Yup – it’s a cunt.” She said matter-of-factly. “Not mine… but we all have one. There’s a great website which we’ve unofficially chosen as our all-time favourite: www.mybeautiful cunt.com.”
“Shouldn’t the profanity filters stop you from seeing that?” I couldn’t believe this; it was bordering on surreal.
“Top marks for Pained!” I’d given up trying to correct her now and she carried on regardless. “Yes, you’d think so -and you’d also think that we’d block this site from appearing on the Opaque feed… BUT it’s seen as being exceptionally positive and uplifting, would you believe? So, join the gang and get yourself a full-screen pussy like the rest of us!”
I just couldn’t get to grips with what Phoebe was telling me; I’d never heard such madness.
“Best to shut your mouth a bit, it’s hanging open a bit too wide -people might think you’re developing a fixation on my cunt; and we wouldn’t want that… just yet.” I looked at her with wild eyes. “You’re going to have to chill more, John. You smoke dope or get high?” I shook my head. “Drink? You’re going to have to find your own outlet then otherwise you will burn out. You have a girlfriend or man-toy?” I wanted to close my ears to this but it was too late now, I had to make the best of this otherwise I’d be back on the streets with no job prospects. Six months will be enough to give me a track record then I’d be able to go job hunting again. “Six weeks on the job and normal sex didn’t do it for me.” Phoebe continued. “I could only be brought off anally... It took hubby a while to get used to the idea, but he kinda likes it now.” I didn’t know where to look - I couldn’t face her but nor could I stare in front of me either; her obscene pixelated pussy just throbbed at me. “Geez; I didn’t know you’d be so square. If I were you I’d avoid the rear staircase between 11 and 12.30 then…. Let’s carry on with the training…” I didn’t dare ask what she meant. It was only 2 in the afternoon on my first day and I’d already had enough.. how was I going to make this work for six months?
For the next two hours I was bombarded with obscene picture after obscene picture; after a while none of it seemed to mean anything. Phoebe just sat me down at a computer and told me that the exercise was to select whether the photo was real or fake. Head’s split open, periodal crotch shots; child abuse, animal fellation and after the first three dozen the photo’s
themselves ceased to have any meaning and I no longer saw them for what they represented… they became beautiful, surreal masterpieces and it was like I was witness to a gaudy, macabre Bauhaus art gallery…. But after a hundred I was starting to see the artifice behind them; those which were just special effects and those which were actually real. Part of me marveled at the ingenuity of the fakes whilst the rest of me wept for humanity. At the end of the two hours Phoebe came over to me.
“How did I do?” I asked naively.
“How should I know?” I just looked at her and it dawned on me what was really going on.
“This was nothing about being able to spot a real pic from a fake, was it?” I parried.
“Well, yes… it was partly...”
“But mainly to get used to the type of content I’ll be seeing on an hourly basis?” I thrust further.
“Hourly? More like minute by minute!” Phoebe riposted. “I hate to say it, but there are some that view you as a bit of a flight risk, Pained… and it pains me to say it I’ve stuck my neck out for you. We need to get you desensitised as quickly as possible… if only for the fact that when you’re let loose on the live world, you’ll be the target of everyone’s fun & games here.”
“How do you mean?”
“There’s various games that go on here -some harmless and others... less so. People message the worst pics they find to ‘easy marks’ to provoke a reaction. You’re being strictly monitored and every gesture and outburst by you will go against your probation. The one that scores the most points against you will win.” I just stared at her.
“That’s monstrous!”
“Look, we’re just 12 people moderating 120 million users; the company is trying to resolve human nature and we’re policing the un-policable! You’ll soon feel as if the world is perpetually teetering on the blink of chaos and the only way to combat that is with gallows humour… it won’t be long before you start joining in on our daily bingo games! None of it is
personal, we’re just trying to survive.”
The last thing I did on that first day was to sign a waiver; a non-disclosure agreement: whatever happened to me during my time at work I was not to tell anyone… ANYONE of the emotional toll from working for Opaque. “You’ve probably seen in your contract that you’ll be offered any ‘outreach counselling’ services you need, and it won’t count against you.” Phoebe warned. “Don’t believe it. It’ll all go down against you, one way or another…”
That night I couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t shut my mind off from the sights I’d been partial to. It was like a stroboscope of images; beatings, rapes, open wounds, pet mutilation and among it all was the enlarged open lips of Phoebe’s screensaver. My partner, Michelle, had been aware of my discomfort throughout the night, but I just couldn’t talk about it with her; how could she understand? We lay in bed together and I just needed a release.
I turned over in bed and spooned her naked body, enjoying her warmth; she didn’t stir -she was a heavy sleeper at the best of times. I felt myself grow hard against her and all I could think of was the phoenix’ engorged pussy; opening up like a wound ready to swallow me whole; I spat on my hand and wet my penis, covering it in saliva so it was slippery enough. I didn’t even think of waking her; all I wanted was to be inside, to invade her the same way I had been… I thought about what Phoebe had said, and thrust myself into Michelle’s body.
“What happened with the eye, Pained much?” Phoebe asked the next day. I didn’t even care about the name anymore; I was pained. I crossed the line last night.
“I broke up with my girlfriend…” I mumbled; Michelle had been inconsolable. Her scream and the elbow to the head were instant and shocked me out of my stupor. Nothing I said afterwards made any difference… it had always been the unwritten rule and the one boundary Michelle had made me promise not to cross. I could tie her up and even spank her
(which was never my thing) but under no circumstance would she ever indulge in anal. What I had done last night was tant-amount to rape and there was no way back.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Phoebe didn’t push it any further; I suppose it had been inevitable and in a way I’m glad it happened.
I had difficulty the rest of that week; I couldn’t switch off at night and consequently stayed wide awake, endlessly watching the adult channels, an eternal plastic display of desire and empty nothings. I found it hard to concentrate at work and Phoebe took me to one side.
“Get used to the coffee machine; it’ll be your best friend.”
“Won’t it just keep me awake for longer?” I asked, my eyes and speech slurred.
“I don’t care what you get up to at night… you want to stay employed here? Then stay awake.” She pressed a cup filled with diarrhea coloured liquid into my hands; it smelt just as bad. “You won’t notice it before long… it’ll make your spit taste funny and your piss stink… but pretty soon you won’t be able to survive without it!”
The first taste was the worst… and then the second taste… but by the time I got back to my desk and started to trawl through the filth of the internet I’d forgotten my initial revulsion and by the end of the week I’d become another hopeless, helpless addict. It made it much harder to sleep, as I thought it would, but by that stage I no longer cared. Sleep was for sloths, and for the dead.
It was shocking though just how blasé I was becoming about the images I was now privy to … car accidents; suicide bombings, sexualised violence… and the posts were becoming almost comical to me. There was a weekly award to the person who found the funniest post and on the second week I actually managed to scoop up this prestigious prize. The post read: “B4 & After abortion pix!! £10 lighter!! RIP Baby… but C my sexy body!!”
A few weeks later someone sent out an anonymous email from one of our sibling offices
asking people to send us naked pictures of themselves so we could block any future revenge porn attempts. This was an April Fools joke, but we were inundated within the first twenty minutes of it being posted; by the time it had been retracted we’d already picked the babe of the month and the munter of the minute. I’d also found my screensaver image.
Then came the terror attacks out of nowhere; the curse of the modern age -the atrocities caught from every conceivable mobile device and every angle known to man. It was unflinching and took everyone by surprise -a series of explosions around the town; the terrorists had targeted certain offices to plunge us all into confusion. (Our office was probably too insignificant to profit from destroying…) For many of the conspiracy seekers this was seen as proof that they had been right all along; for me this was the realisation of my worst nightmares. There seemed to be no empathy to the clips being posted; no editing just raw footage of charred bodies and malformed corpses; smoke billowing out of the offices. This wasn’t special effects; this wasn’t a movie -these were people like me; walking into an office, ready to do a meaningless job… only to be unceremoniously executed in such a horrific way.
We were on the front line and were deluged by thousands, tens of thousands of clips each that we had to veto. Even the most hardened of us were staggered by the nature of some of the video’s. People had invaded the offices after the blasts, armed with their mobile phones and were actually filming the people dying, ignoring the pleas for help; immune to the suffering of others -and we were just allowing them to post. There was nothing in our rules to stop them; this was news, true unbiased news.
I couldn’t cope with what I was watching, and, even though I knew it would be noticed and held against me during my performance review, I left my screen and ran to the toilets. All the stalls for the men’s and women’s blocks were occupied and I could hear intermittent sobbing mingled with animalistic sounds of desperate copulation. I understood what Phoebe had said
about sex; there were times when only raw sex could heal the wounds.
The only stalls that were free were the mother & baby changing and the disabled toilet; I chose the former not thinking why Opaque would have such an incongruous facility. It was occupied by an older lady I’d noticed a few times, Maude; she had taken on a motherly role to many of the younger interns there which had earned her the nickname of Mother Maude. I blushed and tried to excuse myself from her presence, but she bade me to come in and shut the door.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise this was occupied. I’ll find somewhere else.” I blushed and made to walk past her but Maude shook her head and motioned for me to sit down on the toilet. Shutting the stall door behind her she walked over to me, undoing the buttons on her blouse. I’d never really paid any attention to Maude in the weeks I’d been there; she managed to keep her head down and just get on with her work with the minimum of fuss. But now facing her, watching transfixed as she manoeuvred her left breast out of her bra, I could see that she was truly beautiful, an Earth mother. She stood there, her ample breast inches from my face, and placed her hand on the back of my head; easing me to suckle on her kindness. “Shh, it’s all going to be ok… It’s all going to be ok.” She whispered to me, rocking me in her arms.
“The sheer volume of work is enough to screw anyone up, John.” Maude comforted me later; she was the only one that ever called me by forename. “The recruitment drive maintains that there’s no such thing as quota’s… but you try bringing that up during your performance review!” She sat on my lap there for another five minutes, putting my mind at rest until it was time for me to go back.
“Can I see you again?” I asked, as we parted.
“Yes, I’m here every day about this time; it’s a service I offer people.” She replied. I was shocked at this. “I’m surprised that it’s taken off the way it has, actually.”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean like that….” I stammered.
“I know… and that’s sweet of you. I’d like that.” She kissed me on the cheek and we walked back to our desks. That night, for the first time, I slept like a baby.
For the next week or so I saw Maude each day at the same time. She never again suckled me and I never asked for it; I’d found someone more important: a friend, and she a kindred spirit. Maude had already been a supervisor but the sheer volume and the ever-changing rules that she was supposed to moderate over made it impossible to keep up. She was also spending more and more time away from her children which worried her.
“Couldn’t you have left them with a child-minder?” I asked.
“Not really – I’ve seen too many videos of baby-sitters raping those in their care or ransacking the properties that I just couldn’t trust anyone with my children anymore. I’m sure Phoebe has told you that it’s not whether your paranoid that’s the issue, it’s whether you’re paranoid enough!”
The next day I spoke to her about something that had been bothering me since the first week. “I don’t understand the double standards here, Maude. How have you managed to juggle these diametrically opposed ideas?”
“Wish with one hand, shit in the other… see which one fills up quicker, I guess.” She wanted me to lighten up; she called me her angry young man.
“Come on, Maude. Posts like ‘Autistic people should be murdered in utero’ aren’t taken down … because it’s not considered a ‘protected characteristic’ but anything that’s labelled black… even if it’s the colour of a pool ball… it’s taken down immediately! It’s crazy!”
“One thing I’ve learnt is this…” Maude explained, “The 90 page document you were given on your first day regarding the standards and principles can be summed up in two lines: dick pics and decapitations are bad; no insides should be seen on the outside.” I smiled, but she
continued: “Posts such as ‘Kick all people with red hair’ and ‘burn all fat kids’ would never be flagged as offensive because it’s not deemed a credible threat. It’s just an outpouring of emotion, apparently! But if you were to post: ‘stab all Zionist’s’ or ‘Someone shoot the Queen’ it would immediately be removed! How crazy is that? Stop looking for sense, John. If it still hasn’t sunk in think on this…. Why are animal abuse images never taken down? They’re used for awareness and educational purposes…”
I sighed and nodded; there was no discernible rhyme or reason, Maude was right. As we were about to return to our respective desks I turned to her and said, “I did find a great post this morning: ‘If oxygen was discovered in 1783, how did people breathe before then?’” We laughed all the way back.
And for a couple of weeks the world turned as normal; I found my feet and, with the help of Maude, even managed to sleep a couple of hours a night. I increased my hours as the weeks went on because I found I had difficulty functioning in the other world around me, but that didn’t seem to matter anymore. One by one the people I once saw as friends became less defined and mere cyphers, just another social media avatar; but that didn’t matter to me either.
Then Michelle knocked on the door, totally unannounced. I wasn’t really paying attention and just opened the door without checking to see who it was; there was no way I’d’ve let her in if I knew it was her! I must’ve looked pretty gaunt and withdrawn by that stage because she kept commenting on it.
“What’s with you? No one’s seen you in weeks, and I can understand why! Have you even looked at yourself recently?” She moaned.
“Have you? I mean, why are you here at all? I didn’t call you here.”
“No… your mum did. Your mum – when was the last time you called or even spoke to her?”
“I can’t..” I tried walking away from her but she wouldn’t let me. Wherever I walked she
followed after me.
“I shouldn’t have run off like that; I know that now.” Michelle explained, trying to hold back the tears. “I had no idea what you were going through… how could I? But look at you now! Whatever this job is, whatever you think it’s doing for you, it’s not -it’s slowly destroying you!”
She forced me into the bathroom, cleaned the mildewed mirror and made me look into it. I stared into the eyes of a no-one; gaunt and bloodshot; pale and waning. This wasn’t me; this wasn’t who I wanted to become. How did I let things get this bad? But what choice did I have? I turned to Michelle who was now crying with me, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying.
“Come back to me, please.” It was just one sobbing sentence, like a mantra, but all I could hear was one of the first things Phoebe said to me: ‘Chances are you’ll burn out within the first three months…” It was her; it was the company that had done this to me… No longer; enough was enough.
I don’t remember leaving Michelle, or how I got out of the flat; I just remember entering the offices of Opaque; it was clear to me what I had to do. Finding the gun was easy; it was exactly where Phoebe said it was and Kevin did nothing to dissuade me from taking it; I thought he’d fight me for it, and I was ready for the conflict. Part of me was actually disappointed that no one tried to stop me, they just looked on; pretending I wasn’t actually there. Phoebe had her back to me, but I could see her reflection in that perfectly formed, obscene vaginal blow-up screensaver of hers. She knew why I was there, could see the gun at her head. She swiveled round and just looked at me.
“We all burn out within the first three months, Payne.” She said to me quietly, that last time, each word measured. My hand started to quiver, each second the gun felt heavier and heavier, but I had to pull the trigger; I had to end it. It had to end.
“It’s what you do next that counts….” She whispered. I just stared at her, saw the smile in
her eyes, remembering her nickname and I knew what I had to do.
