Rawpocalypse

2 - Red

For James Snyder the day had begun like every other, and by a quarter till eleven that evening, it would end much the same. The difference lay in between. Today, James would fall in Love. But alas, this is not that story.

The steel door of his prison-like workstation eased open, taking James by surprise. The monotony of packaging raw meat had allowed his mind to wonder to youthful days. He glanced at the bright red numbers on the wall-mounted time clock. It was twenty minutes past shift change; his relief had arrived late yet again.

James considered himself an intelligent man, too bright for the factory job, a sentiment he couldn't hold for the tall thin derelict pulling on a lab coat in the corner. Pointing out the obvious time discrepancy was futile, so he wheeled away from the console saying nothing.

Sam waved like a boy greeting his best friend on the first day back to school after a long lonely summer. James frowned, shaking his head in dismay, until horror caught him by the back of the neck. Sam had waved to someone else. James whirled toward the large glass window behind him to see a roomful of white lab coats and one pretentious looking man in a dark business suit observing their cubicle.

James foot-tapped back to his workstation, where production had come to a momentary standstill. "Great," he muttered, trying hard not to move his lips. "You've gotten us both fired."

Sam strolled to the station without a worry in the world and slid the clipboard from the work-surface. With artificial piety, he scrutinized the task sheet neither of them had set one eyeball on since two days after they were hired.

"What the hell are you doing?" James said through the corner of his mouth.

"Routine inspection."

"Whuh? We don't do inspections."

"That guy in the suit doesn't know that."

James stepped on the foot-pedal, advancing a bundle of packaged steak out of sight behind a thick glass port-hole. Sam leaned forward, resting his hand on James's shoulder to peer inside at a scene he'd watched millions of times before. Through the dim iridescent green glow an unwrapped flat of artificial beef scrolled into view by conveyor. At a predetermined point, the belt stopped on its own accord.

James reached for the green button, the one beside the red button, the only button he'd ever pressed in the six months he'd worked there. He had often wondered what would happen to the refused meat if the red one were pressed, but every tray that had every passed before his eyes was perfectly uniform. Always!

Sam clenched James wrist, preventing him from pressing the button as he inspected the package longer than necessary.

"All right," muttered James. "Don't over act the part."

Sam let go and signaled for him to proceed. When the button finally gave way beneath James's fingertip, the interior compartment lit with a red glow as some invisible force cured the raw food. The red bulb, it had been explained during his orientation, was only added to signify the process was taking place. The patented rays that did the real work were a mystery never discussed in his presence.

The fake inspector pushed away and arose proudly, his thumb cocked in an approving gesture for the men in the next room to see.

James rolled his eyes. "Keep it up, maybe they'll only fire you, you dipshit."

Sam turned away. "Keep up the good work, my man. I have other stations to inspect."

James kept one eye to his duties with the other groping his peripheral vision. The room of men still stood facing the workstation, the suited man's arms still folded.

Sam's lab coat rustled onto its hook and the door unlatched for him to exit. Behind the portal glass, the green hue had returned with the end of the curing process. A thin layer of plastic wrap descended within a rectangle frame and pressed over the meat tray, sealing it for retail. As the conveyer carried the package away, so too did the men in the next room rotate from sight on their carousel journey to the next station like a ride at an amusement park.

James leaned back into his chair, staring at the red button rather the fresh tray of meat that had scrolled into view. More than ever, he wanted to press the red button, certain that at any moment, someone from human resources would step inside the room to relieve him of duty.

He pressed the green button grudgingly, suspecting he would only be reprimanded, perhaps by a note enclosed with his pay stub explaining why they had docked his pay. He supposed it would be Sam who entered the room next, finally bobbing back inside like nothing had happened.

Time passed slowly, along with several packages of meat. A new thought soon took hold. Surely Sam wouldn't be bold enough to leave and not come back, forcing James into a double shift. Sam was an idiot, but he couldn't be that foolish.

James glared at the tray of raw meat. His eyes cornered to the empty observation room with its fresh set of unoccupied seats that had momentarily rotated into place.

"Screw it," he said, pushing the red button.

Behind the portal glass, the meat glowed red, stealing his thunder. Just like before, the packaging film lowered and wrapped the meat as it had every time he pushed green. His jaw dropped. The job was a ruse. A monkey, a robot, an idiot like Sam could do this job.

When the package was replaced by a new tray of perfectly proportioned beef ready for his inspection, he insisted he'd pushed the green button by accident. Habit had overridden his intention.

He pressed the red circle slowly and deliberately. There would be no mistake this time. The light went red, and the process continued like clockwork. The thought made his blood begin to percolate. The long hours spent staring through the damn portal meant nothing. It meant a paycheck to be sure, but the monotony of it all. Why put men through such unnecessary torment?

The doorknob rattled and James whirled toward it in desperate relief. Whatever fate lay ahead, it was better than the drudgery of a sixteen hour shift pushing buttons for no apparent reason. He took his foot from the pedal and the green portal faded to black.

Sam entered balancing two cups of coffee in one hand, a peace offering. "Look what I've got."

James felt surprised by the tug at his gut. He'd truly hoped to be fired. He'd had enough. I quit!

I quit, I quit, I quit!

Sam stared at him with a furrowed brow. "Dude, your face is beet red."

James bolted upright and thrashed off his lab coat. With a fling it flew to the corner and nearly caught on the hook before sliding to the floor. He stomped to the door and threw it open. Just before leaving, he whirled toward Sam's bewildered face and grabbed the top cup of coffee. "Don't be late again tomorrow."