Part II
I'm holding a check made out to me in the amount of $5,000. Basically, it looks right. It looks like a regular WorldConneX check, like the paycheck I used to get every two weeks before I switched over to direct deposit. But there's something wrong. The thing is too simple. It should be attached to a larger sheet explaining all the deductions. And five grand, even?
A WorldConneX check for $5,000 shoul read something like $3716.59. I've never seen so many zeroes. It looks so clean. This thing must be fake—a prop like those huge checks they photograph the sweepstakes winners holding. So the trick here is to make me think I'm getting five thousand dollars, when in fact I'm not.
Interesting.
Cruel, but interesting.
"All right," I say, handing the check back to Peggy. "So what’s in Box B? And what am I supposed to do?"
"Let’s try a little test, Emmett."
Peggy puts the check back into the envelope and, reinserting it into the box, puts the box back into its original place on the desk. "Tell me what you make of this statement: all company vice presidents are liars."
"Yes."
She looks at me expectantly, as though I’m supposed to grasp the hidden meaning at any moment. But what hidden meaning could there possibly be in that statement? I do admire her for having the honesty to come right and say it. It certainly tends to back up the notion that the check is a fake.
"Don’t you see a problem with that statement?" she asks.
"Ah, well…" What are we going for now? "I guess it’s a little self-incriminating."
"Right," she sighs.
It’s clear she doesn’t care for my answer. But it beats me what I’m supposed to say.
"Maybe that one hits a little too close to home," she says after a minute. "Let’s try it this way. What would you think if Dr. Bryce said the same thing about scientists?"
"Well, I guess that would surprise me a little."
"Why?"
I clear my throat.
"Because we expect scientists to be truthful and objective. Right? So it would be kind of surprising. But I would understand what he meant. I suppose all people are liars when you get right down to it. You know, to a certain extent."
"No. No." Peggy stops and thinks for a moment. She turns to Dr. Bryce, who looks puzzled.
"No," she says again. "We aren’t talking about anything to an extent. What I mean is, what if Dr. Bryce told you that all scientists are liars; that they tell nothing but lies; that everything they say is a lie."
She is clearly losing her patience with my inability to pick up the thread.
"Okay. I would have to say, again, that I would be very surprised."
"Why?"
"For the reasons I stated."
"So you would believe him?"
"Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?"
"Because he just told you that scientists never ever tell the truth!" She has this wild, triumphant expression on her face. This woman is clearly insane. Which I kind of like.
Question: Why am I always attracted to terrifying women?
Answer: Actually, you are always attracted to competent women, women of true achievement. And because you are yourself so mediocre both in your abilities and your accomplishments, and so utterly lacking in self-esteem, you naturally find such women terrifying.
Question: Well, in that case, why don’t I—
No. No time for that. Okay, now I’m seeing the problem. If he says scientists are all liars, it must be a lie. He’s a scientist. I allow a gratuitous expression of realization to come over my face.
"You see the problem now?" She looks a little less manic now, but still. This woman is way too into this.
"Yes. I get it. He must be lying."
Dr. Bryce coughs nervously. Peggy’s eyebrow goes up again, much higher than before.
"Are you sure?"
"Ah, yes. Yes I am." No, not really too sure at all.
"Explain."
"Well, if he’s right, and all scientists really are liars, meaning they never tell the truth, then he’s lying right now."
Dr. Bryce chuckles.
"True, but I think you missed one thing. You said if I’m right, then all scientists are liars. If we’re all liars, then I must be lying. So if I’m right, I’m lying. In other words, if what I’m saying is true, then what I’m saying is a lie."
"Well, granted, that doesn’t make much sense," I admit.
"Now let’s suppose that I’m not right," Bryce continues. "In that event—"
"Hold it," says Peggy. She picks up a yellow post-it notepad from the desk and writes something on it. Then she hands the pad to me. It reads: This sentence is false.
"True or false?" she demands.
I study the sentence for a moment, and I get it.
"I see, now," I say, sitting back in my chair. "If it’s true, it’s false. If it’s false, it’s true. Just like you were saying." I gesture at Bryce. "It’s actually neither true nor false. It’s just nonsense."
"Not nonsense," says Peggy. "Paradoxical. What you have encountered is a paradox of self-reference. Such paradoxes are important to us, because the programming language we use in the quantum computer is self-referentially paradoxical."
"So what does all this have to do with box B?"
"Box B is where the central paradox of the MITE project lies," says Bryce
"Which is?"
Peggy takes the ball.
"As I said, we have placed a bonus check for $5,000 in Box A. We have opened the box; you have seen the money. Box B we will not open until you have made a certain decision. In Box B, the computer has placed either a 24-month separation package, or nothing at all, depending on a profile that it has run on you."
A bonus in one box, a separation package in the other.
Lisa was right. Not to mention Jeff's knee.
"This profile," Peggy continues, "is based on observations of your work performance and other data, and has proved useful in predicting employee behaviors in certain situations. You have the choice of choosing either box B alone, or both boxes A and B. If the computer profile predicted that you would pick Box B alone, the computer placed the separation package in the box. If, however, the profile predicted that you would choose both A and B, the computer put nothing in Box B. So far, we have run this profile on a large cross-section of employees and have only proven to be wrong one out of a thousand times. So virtually every employee who picked both boxes has received the $5,000 bonus; while every employee who has picked box B alone has received the 24-month separation package."
"So everybody goes for Box B alone?"
Peggy beams me a flawless smile. "Yes, pretty much."
A 24-month separation package. The very idea. Two full years of salary, and you don’t have to work at WorldConneX any more.
It’s staggering.
I’ve been through three reorgs: 1994, first quarter 2001, third quarter 2001. In all three, the one and only topic of conversation around the coffee machines and clearings at the end of the cubicle rows for weeks at a time was, "What kind of package do you think they’ll give us?"
Actually, that’s a bit of an oversimplification. There was a little more to it than that. The conversations you heard around the sixth floor actually went something like this:
"Did you hear about Dave?"
"Yes, what a shock."
"He’s been here longer than anyone else in the group."
"I know. How are they deciding this?"
"I have no idea. It’s scary."
"Really scary."
"Did you hear what kind of package he got?"
"No, did you?"
"No."
Then there would be a long pause, eventually followed by
"What kind of package do you think they’ll give us?"
For any of the layoffs, there were a few highly skilled technical people who were given three or four months. But these were the real Brain Trust types, the ones the company ended up re-hiring as contractors a few weeks later at about a 50% pay increase. And maybe there were one or two really senior suits that got hung out to dry who were offered five or six months. But nobody ever went as high as 10, as far as I ever knew. And 24 months? It was a pipe dream.
And yet here I have it looking me right in the face. Box A contains $5,000, which sounds pretty nice. But Box B has so much more. Two years of pay, plus a free ticket out of this joint, meaning not having to go through the next reorg. Which everyone acknowledges is way overdue.
So this day—which got off to such an iffy start, has now led me to the best offer I have ever been given in my entire career. How strange and wonderful. If I had a little more time and emotional energy, I would give a thought to how sad it is that the best offer I have ever been given involves being laid off. But there’s no time for that.
"So let me see if I’ve got this straight. The quantum computer knows what I’m going to pick. And the separation offer is in Box B only if I’m going to open Box B alone. If I’m going to open both boxes, Box B is empty."
"That’s right," says Peggy. "Would you like a few minutes in which to consider your decision?"
"In a minute. First let me ask you something. What about lifers and people who love their jobs? Can they pick just Box A and take the bonus?"
"No," Bryce answers. "Choosing Box A alone is not within the parameters of the test."
"You want to keep in mind that we are applying this test to a very specific profile," adds Peggy. "It’s possible that people you would call ‘lifers’ are not part of that profile. I’m not saying that’s the case; I’m just saying it’s possible. In any event, anyone who wants to keep their job has a simple choice: they pick both boxes and, inevitably, there is no separation package in Box B."
"And nobody has sued you over this, Peggy?"
The eyebrow again.
"Thank you for reminding me." She reaches into her black leather briefcase on the floor and produces a manila folder. She opens the folder and passes me the top document. It is several pages stapled together.
"You will need to sign this," she says. "It simply states that you understand that you have been laid off and offered the opportunity to participate in the MITE program. By signing, you acknowledge that the terms and conditions of the MITE program are in complete compliance with your original employment contract, which I can assure you they are."
"But I thought I was only laid off if I get the separation package."
"If you choose both boxes and box B is empty, you will have a month with the company during which you can apply for any internally available position. If you don't find anything, you're gone."
"And I won't find anything, will I?"
"I'm not the Quantum Computer, Emmett. I can't predict the future."
I nod.
"So it doesn't really matter what I do. But if I sign this, it makes it hard for me to sue later."
"Yes it does. Suing WorldConneX is usually not a good idea, anyway, Emmett." This is a threat, but one delivered with empathy and understanding. It says something about WorldConneX that this woman who's turned my life into some bizzare party game is probably the most humane and compassionate member of senior management I've ever met.
"So I hear. What if I refuse to sign, Peggy?"
"You may call me Margaret."
Remember, Emmett? Some things we say, some things we only think.
"I’m sorry, Margaret. What if I refuse to sign?"
She shrugs.
"Of course, participation is strictly optional. As I said, you have already been laid off. This file contains the details of that decision, including a standard separation package."
"Which probably isn’t any 24 months."
There’s that smile again.
Posted by Phil at March 1, 2004 12:00 AM | TrackBack