15. All Business, No Pleasure
The boat maneuvered through the harbor way too fast. With vacation lingering in her soul, the frenzied boat traffic overwhelmed her. To make matters worse, the workboat didn’t have a helm. Autonomous water traffic was the only option in these waters, yet the dependence on technology unsettled her. Rather than getting used to it, her attention turned back to correspondence. She'd been doing everything she could to keep her mind off of Gregory.
The terms of her contract didn’t pay her for travel, and the trip to and from the Institute’s assets didn’t count toward her work hours. When they sent an employee to unmanned aquaculture buoys, they meant it as punishment, and she understood punishment. Even though her job with the Institute frustrated her, at least she was free to throw herself into the consulting work she managed on the side.
Two years ago, on her first day at work, she met her HR representative. He never made eye contact and reviewed each page of the policy manual like a robot. His only pause came at the top of each hour when he insisted on a ten-minute break or when she needed to acknowledge a policy and sign a screen. A strange combination of zero interest in people and intense dedication to the job made him the right person to say things like, “Any work over thirty hours a week is a criminal offense. That kind of selfishness puts others on the streets.” Then with satisfied devotion, he added, “If caught, you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. There is no off-the-clock. If you take work home, you will be reported and your employment ended.” It was a long four hours and ironically the time spent with the uptight bureaucrat didn’t count as work hours, nor was it considered off-the-clock.
The commitment to a mediocre workplace didn’t stop there. The next day, her coworkers took turns rolling their eyes, giving loud exhales, and turning their backs anytime Bella got excited about her work. Even her supervisor wasted no time to advise her, “Pace yourself. It avoids burnout.” The work at the Marine Quality Institute didn’t challenge her mind or satisfy her passion for the sea, but it never was meant to. The NGO had hiring requirements, and she fit the bill—female, non-Asian, and her passport sloshed around in the Oceania Collective category, which made her a migrant worker. She quickly understood her presence allowed them to check a few boxes and show the Institute’s commitment to DBEI, or Diversity, Belonging, Equity, and Inclusion. Her PhD in bivalve protein management got her foot in the door and looked good on the Institute’s alphabet soup of credentials, but her DNA and birthplace got her hired.
Just because the Institute turned her dreams of an exciting career into a boring job didn’t mean she had to accept it. Once she realized the job was a dead end, she took to moonlighting. Even though quantum computing and machine learning added speed and sophistication to aquaculture projects around the world, there were a million individuals, villages, and small companies still in need of practical advice about their resources and how to tweak their operations for higher efficiencies and greater yields. Practical experience still had a place. She found it more profitable and more rewarding than her job at the Institute. But she was not ready to quit the day job which gave her an excuse to live in Singapore, credentials to travel throughout the world (except the United States), and provided an impressive benefits package.
When the boat slowed, she raised her head from her device and walked out to the work deck. Her lightweight jumpsuit fluttered in the wind, and she snugged the drawstring of her sun-cap. She wore her hair braided into pigtails and tied the ends together down her back, forming a vee. Even though the two other passengers ignored her all day, she felt sorry for the workers who inspected the buoys. They dressed alike in steel-toed boots, stiff coveralls, orange five-point harnesses integrated into floatation vests, and to prove that safety was paramount, helmets strapped at the chin. The Institute sent her into the field with an underwater drone. It looked a bit like a giant crab. The sample-collecting drone took five times longer than if she just put on a mask and dove to get what she needed. But her job was to drop the drone in the water and pull it out again, not to get wet.
She looked past the two workers and squinted against the hazy sun and couldn’t believe it was the same sun she saw each day while on vacation. Bella considered the difference and decided today’s sun had a serious attitude—all business, no pleasure. Singapore’s skyscrapers pushed inward toward the Twin Flyers, giant observation wheels holding back the skyline before it fell into a tree-lined boulevard with manicured public parks and beaches. The sky flurried with activity, airliners glided one after another into Changi Airport, and a beeline of mismatched drones cut the sky. On the water, the temperature was pleasant and humidity tolerable. A small thundercloud loomed in the distance with striations of rain descending to the earth beneath, and a sudden flash of lightning lit the thunderhead. The maintenance workers exchanged surprised looks, but it was Bella’s turn to ignore them, so she gathered her samples and prepared for the sprint to the Mass Rapid Transit station.
The lab at the Marine Quality Institute had equipment which sent shivers down Bella’s spine when she saw it for the first time. No expense had been spared, but it sat unused. The Institute had a rigid policy which stated that everyone must complete their workday and leave the building by four o’clock. Because of the maximum thirty-hour work week and nine o’clock start times, real scientific research was impractical. Bella took only an hour to prepare and package up her samples and leave them for pickup. The building was empty when she walked out the main doors at three thirty.
I love the realistic skiing simulation.