Supervisor Droid

After about an hour of sorting files, Dithers heard the familiar clank of his supervisor moving up the rows. “Please not me, please not me,” thought Dithers. Its leggings and bolts were clanking from lack of maintenance and the repeated beatings from workers. The logic was that there is almost no way to tell someone that they filed documents incorrectly without royally pissing them off. When Winterfresh had taken over operations, he ran some algorithms and determined it would improve productivity by almost 21% if employees were informed about their mistakes from someone they could then assault. So all the supervisor droids were fitted with cushioning armor and given obnoxious personalities to encourage the violence. The droid stopped outside Dithers’ cubicle. “Hey ass-clown. You fucked up 3% of your file recognitions yesterday,” it said in a mechanical whine. “I mean, it’s not like your job is hard. A fucking ATM could do your job. What the fuck?” Dithers wanted to argue with the machine but knew it was just goading him until he assaulted it. He gave it a half-hearted kick in the chest, which made the droid pause for a moment before it resumed speaking, “Listen, the Boss is getting concerned about employee errors in relation to these simutronic games. We’ve got a real issue with people playing while on the job and trying to multi-task. You know what I think? Leave the fucking multi-tasking to us machines.” At that, Dithers sighed, picked up his trashcan, and smashed it into the robot’s face until it finally shut up. “There! Much better. Now get your shit together,” the droid garbled as it clanked away.