38
The Deal
This was to be my fate. A long life of working, until something stopped working and then I would be sent to a retirement home. Then, with any luck, I might avoid dying for a while. What kind of horrible deal is that?
I had all day to think about it. That staff, the one we just loaded into the incinerator, was me; a naïve me. If it had just managed to keep its mouth shut, it might not have been retired. I could see how easy it was. Just don’t be able to do work. All I would have to do was start complaining to Samuel about headaches, and I’d be at the clinic. What amazed me was the honesty with which the staff had answered all my questions. When was the last time that an authority figure questioning you ever did something good for you? I’m not sure if the naïveté made it worse
