“So, if I am not going to work with your programmers, who will I be working with?”
“Our Quality Assurance Rating Team, or Quarts, as they like to call themselves.”
“Excuse my ignorance here, Phil, but, exactly what do the Quarts do?”
“They act as sort of janitors for our website,” Phil said. “They take out the trash. They pull down the filth and flush out the scum that floods into UVid every second of every day.”
“Wow, I learned something new today,” Sylvia said. “I am embarrassed to admit this, but, I always assumed algorithms took care of all that.”
Phil sighed. “We tried that. By God have we tried, but, contrary to what the artificial intelligence apocalyptists say, there are some things only people can do. And filth removal is one of those tasks that cannot be automated. We had some major egg on our face a few years ago that caused us to give up on AI being able to handle the problem.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Our AI was unable to distinguish between porn and legitimate historical videos. It was humiliating. For a company like ours, committed to being a beacon of free speech and a major public force opposed to censorship, the mistake was almost our Death knell.”
“Ah,” Sylvia said. “I do think I remember something about that. This was about the blocking of that famous picture of the poor little naked Vietnamese girl whose village had been napalmed, right?”
“Yes. That was it,” Phil said as he closed his eyes and shuddered. “That documentary is entirely legit, of course, but, all of our algorithms flagged it for removal. The AI just could not distinguish that video from old run of the mill porn. This was, and remains, a huge problem.”
“I suppose that former Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart was correct when he said he could not define obscenity, but he knew it when he saw it.”
“Exactly our problem. How can you tell between filth and art? It is largely undefinable but somehow instinctive. The week after that incident happened our user base dropped 10% and our stock 15%! The average internet user, and especially the ‘so-called’ thought leaders in cyberspace, were very quick to cry, George Orwell. It almost sunk the company.” Phil grinned and added, “So, until we are able to program the Potter Stewart 3000, we have to do it manually. This is a huge expense and a constant problem.”
“Well…, if you don’t mind me asking, but, why do you bother?” Sylvia asked. “I mean, it’s not like you are producing this vile content. It is not illegal, is it?”
“No, it is not,” Phil said. “But here is the ugly little secret.” He pointed over to the glass wall in his office overlooking a vast open floor below filled with hundreds of programmers typing away at their computers, their enormous supercharged screens filled with thousands and thousands of lines of code whizzing by in a blur. “We may look like a technology company, and a tremendous amount of our resources go into expanding technology, but it is not really true. At our core, we are primarily an advertising business. And we have the same pressures as all advertisers have always had — do not upset your customers. And the guys who pay the bills around here do not want to be associated with filth.”
“Yeah,” Sylvia said. “I see your point.”
Phil said, “The sheer volume of content uploaded each day is breathtaking. The job of monitoring is almost impossible.” He added, “You may not know this, but, since we have been talking this morning, over 36,000 hours of videos have been uploaded to UVid!”
“Good Lord,” Sylvia said.
“And most are monetized to serve up the automatic ads in our revenue sharing program. Now…, you can see the problem that may arise if say some huge international cosmetics company, drops a couple of million on UVid ads, only to be accidentally coupled with some heinous porn video playing on their name. This actually happened, by the way, and we lost millions when they pulled their ads.”
“But weren’t you able to go after the original poster of the video? I have seen your terms of agreement, and they are pretty extensive.”
“Yes, but you see, the scammers get paid for the click, so by the time we find them they have their money and have evaporated into the ether. You can’t sue a ghost. It is a real problem.”
“I see,” Sylvia said. “So…, I am curious, but given the volume of uploads you have, how many people do you have working in the Quart program?”
Phil paused and glanced up at the ceiling for a few seconds before saying, “At this campus, right around 3,000, give or take. There are thousands more located at our various other locations. Our turnover rate is very high, so we are always having to hire and train more in a constant churn.”
“3,000! Wow!” Sylvia exclaimed. “But…, if you don’t mind me asking, I still don’t know how this relates to my unique skills? I mean, I understand that porn scares off advertisers, but I would doubt a little T&A would cause such deep psychological scarring.” She grinned and added, “And, I know for a fact, I have a friend who has a nephew who would willingly come here and watch porn for you all day — for free.”
Phil laughed but paused before his expression grew somber and his tone serious. “Well…, the problem is, Rule 34 has run amok; and even the most jaded among us can become quite disturbed by what they have to watch.”
“Rule 34?” Sylvia said.
“Oh,” Phil said. “A little ‘inside baseball’ jargon, sorry. Rule 34 is an old internet meme that states that any scenario, no matter how bizarre or disgusting you can imagine, somewhere, someone has made porn of it and uploaded it onto the internet. Godzilla porn is a thing, apparently. If you doubt me, look it up.”
Sylvia shook her head and said, “No thanks. I will take your word for it.”
“And as I stated, our burnout rate is very high for our Quart team. Very high. This not only costs us millions of dollars in retraining expenses, but it opens us up for potentially costly labor lawsuits. It also severely hampers our ability to stay ahead of this problem. There are millions of coders and shady producers in the Ukraine right now, coming up with new and inventive ways to trick our systems. The Tsunami of filth uploaded every minute is nearly unstoppable. And when you finally get a Quart team member up to speed, and they quit after only a month or two, it cripples us. Fixing this problem is a top priority for us, and…, well…., we would be honored for you to join our team. At the end of the day, we need to take care of our employees, and I can think of no one more qualified to see this get done than you.”
“So, I would be in charge of counseling for the entire Quart team?” Sylvia asked. “That is a huge staff to contend with. I don’t know if I am —”
“—Yes, it is a big staff,” Phil interrupted, “but you will not be dealing with everyone at once, of course. We want to try it out as a pilot program first. If your methods achieve the results I expect them to, well…, your position, along with your salary, will expand dramatically. I would fully expect that you would then hire dozens of therapists, all working for and trained by you, of course, to help manage the load.”
Sylvia smiled. It was the ultimate offer. Not only would she be making more money than she ever had in her life, but she would also finally be able to put her methods into real life practice.
“Well, Phil, I have made my decision. You convinced me. I will take it.”
“Wonderful!” Phil exclaimed.
“But only on one small additional condition,” Sylvia said.
“Condition? What condition?” Phil asked.
“I want to work as one of the Quarts, for a week or two,” Sylvia said.
“Interesting…., kind of see how the system works, I suppose?”
Sylvia nodded and said, “exactly.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me, agreed,” Phil said. “I will introduce you to the team leader and get you all—,”
“—Wait. I think it best if I go in and work entirely undercover, and without any special treatment or filtering. I want to see exactly what these employees have had to contend with. I want to ex
perience their lives for a while. Walk a mile in their shoes, so to speak. It has always been my experience the best therapists are ones who understand what their patients have been through as thoroughly as possible, first hand.”
Phil smiled broadly as he nodded. “I think this is a fantastic idea, Sylvia.” He thrust his hand into hers and shook it. “I knew contacting you was a stroke of genius. Welcome aboard.”
“So, can I see where the Quarts work?” Sylvia said. “I am anxious to check this out.”
“Absolutely,” Phil said as he got up from his desk and opened his office door.
Sylvia nodded and followed Phil down the main hall and onto one of the five glass elevators on the third floor. It was evident UVid was designed by an architect with a flair for the dramatic. Phil pushed the letter B, for the basement, and they began to descend. As they passed by the second floor, Sylvia observed the bright sunlight room, numerous plants, and rows of desks filled with coders pass by before they descended another floor and the expansive lobby of UVid came into view. It was especially breathtaking from this vantage point, high in the ceiling. It was like some sort of Sci-Fi - Willy Wonka mashup, with fifty-foot palm trees, a freefalling waterfall and several, very expensive Henry Moore bronze sculptures dotting the faux tropical rainforest enclosure.
“This is really magnificent, Phil,” Sylvia said as they continued their journey past the lobby into the basement.
“It should be,” Phil said. “It takes a lot of money to get investors to cough up the dough — especially back in the early days when we were just cat videos and not making any money.”
Sylvia laughed as the car noticeably darkened and they continued their descent.
“I suppose the darkness down here doesn’t help people struggling to get over their upsetting memories?”
“Just wait until you see,” Phil said. “The facilities are quite nice.”
When the doors opened, Sylvia audibly gasped. Phil was right. It was gorgeous. Everything was painted in bright colors and was fully lit. Multiple windows were spaced along the walls opening into a lush and green atrium connected to the lobby above. The reality of being underground was completely obscured. Soft murmuring earth sounds were played over the internal sound system, and tons of tropical plants and trees were arrayed throughout the cavernous space. Rather than looking like a dungeon, as she expected, it looked like some sort of island paradise.
“This is lovely…, simply lovely,” Sylvia said as she glanced around the room. The space was immense, at least the size of a football field, and despite being staffed by hundreds of people, it was deathly quiet. All of the employees were glued to their screens, earbuds firmly planted into their ears. Along the walls, and on the many pylons holding up the ceiling, dozens of “feel good” paintings had been placed. Knockoff Monets, fake Renoirs, and various other impressionists artists were well represented.
Everything in the area was calibrated to keep the mood light, airy, and most important of all, upbeat. When Sylvia stepped forward to look at one of the workstations nearby and she adjusted her focus, she caught sight of something on the screen. It was a flash of …, something. Red, or brown, she could not tell, but, she did get a tingly sensation in the back of her throat that told her it was unpleasant. The worker at the computer paid no attention to his visitor, the earbuds successfully blocking out any noise.
“We keep a privacy screen over all of the monitors. These prevent anyone seeing what is being viewed,” Phil said. “Trust me, I learned that lesson the hard way with a particularly horrified group of Japanese investors who wanted the grand tour and insisted on seeing the entire operation.”
“Yes,” Sylvia said. “I can see that would be a problem.”
“So, now that you are officially going to be an employee, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Phil asked.
“No problem.”
“Any issue with your family moving out here to the West Coast? I know some New Yorkers, and my Aunt was one of those types, think no civilization exists west of the Hudson.”
Sylvia shook her head and paused before saying, “No…. I am completely solo on this journey. No family at all.”
“Well, that makes it easy then,” Phil said. “And you will note, as a good HR manager, I did not ask that question as part of the interview.”
Sylvia glanced over at Phil and teased, “I think I may remember you now from my class. You were that very bright boy in the back, right?”
“Yeah…,” Phil laughed. “Right.”
“Oh…,” Sylvia said as she pointed to a lone, homemade poster on one of the columns. “It appears that one of the Quarts decided to add their own decoration to this whole Walt Disney / Renoir motif you have going on down here.”
Phil followed the point of her finger to the poster, and his face dropped. It said, in big, bold red letters “Abandon all Hope ye who enter here!”
“Well…, as you can see,” Phil said. “The gallows humor gets a bit thick down here, sometimes.”
“Phil,” Nancy asked as she pushed the candy cart towards the center of the room. “Slumming down here today?”
“Not quite,” Phil said as he stepped forward and quickly glanced over her selection. “But, since you are here—”
Nancy smiled, reached down into her cart and pulled out a Toblerone candy bar. As she handed it to Phil, his eyes brightened, and he snatched it from her hand, quickly unwrapping it. “Nancy, you are the best. You always remember to stock my favorite.” He glanced over at Sylvia and said, “I suppose there is no point asking you again, is there?”
“Well now,” Sylvia said as she leaned forward and surveyed the array of snacks. It was impressive, literally every possible candy bar, potato chip or snack her mind could conceive of. “Let’s not be hasty.” Seeing her favorite treat on the rack at her fingertips, she glanced over at Nancy as she reached for it.
“It’s OK, you can take whatever you want,” Nancy said as she stifled a giggle. She looked over at Phil and said, “She must be new.”
“She is,” Phil said. “She is a new member of our Quart team.”
Sylvia finished her selection and lifted the package up to her face, smiling as she turned towards Phil. Holding up the bar like a trophy, she whispered, “this seems appropriate today.”
Phil laughed. It was a Payday bar. “Yes, Sylvia. It is very appropriate. And of course, you know what this means don’t you?”
“No, what?” Sylvia said as she took a large bite into the caramel peanut cluster goodness.
“We have you now! You can never leave,” he said as he mocked a sinister tone in his voice. “Resistance is futile. You have been absorbed by the Borg.”
Chapter 2
April 20th, 1996 - Central Park, New York City - 1:45 PM
“Can you believe this weather?” John said as he wiped away the fresh river of sweat from his brow. It was a steady stream flowing into his eye now, and the tiny creek rolling down his face had multiplied into a raging flood. “Already in the upper 80s and expected to only get hotter next week. Such a change from this past winter. New York seems to be going through some crazy swings lately.”
“Maybe the scientists are right,” Sylvia said. “They say the earth is getting warmer, you know. Still…,” she added as she stretched out her bare legs and wriggled her toes in the grass. “It’s nice to be outside today. I have been cooped up in my dark office all week grading papers, so I need a bit of sunshine. I don’t care if it is hot. It is a beautiful day for a picnic, even if global warming will burn us all to a crisp in twenty years.”
“Oh, I heard about that,” John said. “I think I read an article in Newsweek about it last week. Frankly, it all sounds like a bunch of alarmist crap to me.”
“I don’t think so,” Sylvia said. “The scientists I know at NYU are always talking about this now.”
“Well…, it wasn’t that long ago they said it was getting colder. This past winter when we were socked in with three feet of snow
I didn’t hear too much about global warming then,” John said as he shook his head. “Who knows? But as for me, today, I would rather be sitting home in the A/C.”
“Or out at the club, finishing up the back nine,” Sylvia teased.
“True,” John said as he smiled. “So…, I guess you got all of your grades posted?”
“Yep. Just a few more weeks and I will be all done for the summer. And then…, three glorious months before the students return in the fall,” Sylvia said. As she spoke, she felt a bead of perspiration run down her neck and pool on the top of her back. John was right. It was a much warmer day than she had anticipated. She turned to him and said, “You know, it may be a bit too hot today after all.” She then glanced over at their son playing at the foot of their picnic blanket and added, “And Billy, I think it is too hot for you to wear your costume today. You need to change.”
“Mommy, that’s not fair,” Billy said. Their rambunctious seven-year-old son was dressed head to toe in a red and blue Spiderman costume. It was made of thin latex, and obviously meant for Halloween, but Billy would have none of her request for him to wear something else. He loved it and wore it every day. Keeping all the bad guys from ravaging the upper west side was a full-time job, after all. And despite his blond hair now dark and wet with sweat, and his young chubby cheeks red from the heat, it was evident he was having a ball.
“And why is that, dear?” Sylvia asked.
“You signed a contract!” Billy cried as he pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and waved it in the air. It was a white piece of construction paper the boy had written on in crayon. At the bottom, Billy and Sylvia’s signatures were evident. The letters were large and shaky. It had taken him over an hour to write. He was just learning to make all his letters, so he was extra careful. A frown formed on the boy’s face as he pointed at the paper. “See, right here it says, If Billy eats all of his peas without complaining, and picks up his toys all week, he can wear his costume to the park on Saturday.”
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