HILARIOUS SPOOF OF THE WEEK

YOUR REPLACEMENT IS HERE

“I can’t possibly be replaced by a robot!” Roger Blindbat insisted to Mark Willington, the outplacement person who had entered his office to inform him of his destiny and lead him out of the car company without collateral damage.

“Why is that?” Mark wanted to know.

“Why? Because I’m an executive, not a blue-collar worker. I think! I imagine the needs of the American public and help develop automobiles they’ll buy.”

“You do? Then why are the Japanese able to make cars that people want more than ours?”

“Robots!” Blindbat exclaimed. “They’ve got state-of-the-art robotic assembly lines. Unlike the mere human workers that we’re encumbered with, their robots can rivet day in and day out and never make a single mistake.”

“So you blame our poor sales performance entirely on the workers who assemble our cars?”

“No doubt about it. Why do you think I’ve been on the forefront of replacing them with robots?”

“Yes, you have been extremely vocal about that.”

“Then why the heck am I being replaced by a robot?”

“The new management does not agree with you. They think by now we should have caught onto certain fundamentals that appear to drive today’s car market.”

“Such as?”

“Simple, attractive but functional designs that don’t change radically, so that each brand we make will finally achieve a recognizable look, instead of getting lost in the swirl of willy-nilly homogenization. Tighter tolerances, so that the spaces between the parts aren’t so wide the car looks clumsy even at a distance and malfunctions more frequently, an occasional top-ten rating in Consumer Reports, etcetera, etcetera.”

“We have to redo the look of the cars every few years or people won’t replace them.”

“We’ve decided that’s thinking from the 1950’s, when there weren’t so many different brands and people could keep track of them.”

“I disagree. We can never abandon built-in obsolescence. It’s the heart and soul of repeat sales.”

“Repeat sales? We should only have a few.”

“And about the tighter tolerances you mention? We can’t crank out enough cars in a profitable way if we have tighter tolerances – unless we have more robots on the assembly line. The American worker just won’t work with the kind of precision required for what you’re asking for. Besides, his hands are too big and clumsy, compared to graceful little Asian hands.”

“Please, no racial slurs. They offend my tender sensibilities. At any rate, we couldn’t disagree with that assertion more. Our thinking is, you give American workers the right designs, they’ll build the right cars.”

“But every effort is being made – “

“ – Please, Roger, you’ve had three decades to make every effort. If you haven’t been able to figure out how to make a competitive car by now, what hope is there that you ever will?”

“Plenty! Why–“

“– Roger, if you couldn’t figure it out yourself, any simpleton would have had a Lexus disassembled by now to see what has to be done to equal and perhaps even surpass it in quality. But no, you’ve been too proud for such a mundane task. Even when you’ve agreed to have a Japanese car taken apart, you’ve only consented to changes that fit your vision of planned obsolescence. And that vision has been found to be wanting. In fact, your performance has been so persistently wrongheaded there are some in the new management team who think you may actually be working for the Japanese.”

“I find that insulting.”

“Be that as it may,” Mark went on, glancing at his watch, “your replacement will be here in a few moments. I must ask you to accompany me out of the building.”

“What about my paperwork, my souvenirs?”

“We’ll have everything packed up carefully and delivered to your home.”

At that moment, Carol Ames, Roger’s longtime secretary, entered and addressed her boss in a tearful manner. “I don’t know how to say this, Roger, but your replacement is here.”

“It is?”

“Ask it to wait,” Mark told her.

“No, no,” Roger objected. “Send it in. I want to meet the robot the new management thinks can do my job.”

“Fine,” Mark agreed, and turned to Carol. “Ask it to come in.”

“Yes, Mr. Willington,” she said uneasily, and went to fetch the new arrival.

“Of all the crazy ideas,” Roger blustered. “A man of vision like me, replaced by a robot.”

“A white-collar robot,” Mark reminded him. “I understand it’s been programmed to do your job superbly.”

“Absolutely impossible!” Roger stated.

Just then Carol led the robot into the office. It was dressed in a grey business suit, carried an attaché case, and looked remarkably like a neatly groomed and nattily attired young exec.

“Welcome, Fred,” Mark said, shaking the robot’s hand.

“Thank you,” it replied.

“Fred? His name is Fred?” Roger wanted to know.

“Yes, I am Fred,” it replied, and looked around the office. “I like it.”

“What do you like?” Roger demanded.

“The office. I can be very functional here.”

“We’ll be gone soon,” Mark assured it. “Then you can get to work.”

“I am happy,” Fred said. “Work is what I do. Work is what I like.”

“Well, I am not!” Roger snapped back.

“I am sorry,” Fred replied.

“Do you really think this bucket of bolts can replace me?” Roger demanded.

“Of course,” Mark replied nonchalantly, and turned to the executive robot.

“Fred.”

“Yes.”

“Show him some of your capabilities.”

“My best?”

“No, some of the things you’re programmed not to do.”

“You mean many of the things that Roger does?”

“I didn’t want to say that, but go ahead.”

“Very well.”

“The things that I do?” Roger asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” it replied. “I have your usual working habits in my avoid file.”

With that, Fred turned to Carol. “Good morning, Carol. Is my coffee ready?”

Carol, a bit confused, said, “You know it always is.”

“Thank you,” Fred replied. Then it walked over, sat in Roger’s desk chair, and picked up the phone. “Hi, Frank, got your message about the antenna improvement on the minivan. Don’t proceed until you get every one of the two-hundred signatures required for a design change.”

The outplacement person could not help but chuckle, an affront that Roger could not abide.

“Laughing? You’re laughing? I’m infuriated!” Roger exclaimed.

“I’m Fred,” said the robot, and picked up the phone again. “Hi, Jack, how about lunch?”

“It eats?” Roger asked.

“My diet is pure electricity.”

“He’s just having fun,” Mark said.

“Fun? You call this fun?”

At that, Fred hung up, and said, “Fun is enjoyment. I will demonstrate.”

He stood up, went to the golf club Roger always kept in the corner, and picked it up. He took a golf ball out of the indoor putting green, placed it on the floor, lined up the shot, and tapped the ball toward the hole. It went in. Fred looked up, “It is a hole in one!”

“That’s it!” Roger shouted, “I’ve had it!” And he headed for Fred with his arms extended. He grabbed the robot and began to strangle it. “I’ll rip you apart chip by chip!”

Fred’s signals began to be a bit jumbled, and he rambled on, “Carol, take a memo. Whoops, time for lunch. I’ll have a double martini!”

“I’ll dismantle it!” Roger screamed.

“Stop this at once,” Mark demanded, and attempted to control the infuriated executive. “It cost a fortune. If you harm it, we’ll deduct the repair costs from your severance pay.”

“You are fired,” Fred went on, still experiencing confusing signals. “Who is fired? I am fired. Everybody is fired.”

“No, you are fired!” Roger told the robot.

“Roger, please, get hold of yourself,” Mark persisted.

“You are endangering your severance package,” Fred advised him.

“I’ll show you what severance is!” Roger shot back, lost in his rising anger.

“If you don’t stop,” Mark told him, “I will see to it that you lose your entire retirement package. No severance! No retirement! No nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!”

“All right, all right,” Roger replied, relenting, and looked at Fred. “But if you think you can replace me, you’ve got your wires crossed.”

“I will do a self-diagnosis and report my condition. I may have minor damage.”

“Minor damage?” Roger replied, his anger welling up once more and his hands reaching out toward Fred.

“Roger, please, come with me,” Mark advised him, and grasped his arm firmly. “It’s time to leave.”

He began to lead him toward the door.

Roger followed, mumbling, “I can’t be replaced by a robot. You’ll see.”

When Mark had led him out of the office, Carol looked around and sighed, “It’s so sad. I worked for him for over twenty years.” Then she turned to Fred, who was in the middle of a self-test. “Are you all right?”

“I am still functioning.”

“Can I ask you about my job? I don’t suppose you need a secretary?”

“Thank you for asking. You are wrong. I am programmed to work with a secretary.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “Then I still have my job?”

“Yes, your job is secure. I have now determined that I am functioning properly. I would like to begin my workday.”

“Yes, Mr…. Do you have a last name?”

“Perfect.”

“What is perfect, sir?”

“My last name. I am Fred Perfect.”

“Oh,” she said. “Very good. Shall we get started, Mr. Perfect?”

“Yes, it is time to begin. First, I will state the principal on which I have been designed. It is not enough to imitate. We must innovate. It is the only way we can once more lead the world in the quality of its automobiles. What do you know? I have a new idea already. Take a memo.”

“Yes, Mr. Perfect,” Carol said, and raised her notepad. “Go ahead. This is so exciting. I haven’t been asked to take down a new idea in years.” ”

By Tom Attea

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