EAGLE-EYED

The old Ford pickup rattled as it idled. The entranceway sign read: “EAGLE PORCELAIN WORKS.” The V8’s rumble didn’t wake the security guard in the booth. He beeped the horn, but the barrier arm still didn’t rise. “Eye of the Tiger“ played as he cranked down his window.

“Joe, wake the fuck up!”

A sleeping man jolted upright in his chair. White donut crumbs drifted down his wrinkled navy uniform. A dusty trail remained as he swiped it off his protruding stomach. “Fuck you, Henry! Are you in a rush to get here today? Are you going to find some flaws in the fine porcelain?”

“Somebody’s gotta do it. Every time our toilets flush, the lights in this town stay on a little bit longer!”

Both laughed and shook hands before the barrier raised. Henry found parking away from everyone. He had twenty minutes to decompress in his truck before the shift. “Went the distance, now I’m not gonna stop. Just a man and his will to survive,” Henry sang as he drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel.

Suddenly, he was interrupted by a loud knock on the window. It was that one asshole he always tried to avoid: Stew Hicks.

“Henry! Good to see ya! How’s that smoke show of a wife and kids? I need you to help me out and carry this stuff in.”

Stew had been at the plant for two days longer than Henry. Per company protocol, that meant Henry still had to defer to him; even though Stew wasn’t a manager. Every shift, Stew walked the factory floor and ordered people to do things they were already doing.

Stew thrived on making anyone who didn’t listen to him look bad to his father-in-law, Bob Feldman, who ran the plant. Henry smiled, nodded, and carried the heavy boxes inside. Stew followed empty-handed.

For the past 20 years, Henry inspected toilets as they rolled by on a conveyor belt. If there were missing parts, he’d say nothing and add them. If there were cracks, he’d put them aside to be recast. He could tell which shift made a toilet from the slight angle of the holes or the way the company logo was stamped.

Henry ignored Stew approaching in his peripheral vision.

Stew had a bulky headset, clipboard in hand, and a whistle around his neck. He looked like a football coach who didn’t know his own playbook.

Stew blew the whistle right behind Henry’s head.

“Hey Henry, just make sure you’re not letting the defective toilets pass through,” yelled Stew as he drank from a “World’s Best Boss” mug.

Henry clenched his fists and bit his bottom lip.

“Listen Stew—”

“Congratulations gentlemen! We need your experience on a new project upstairs in operations,” Bob Feldman interrupted. “You’re both being promoted. Go home for the day, and come back tomorrow in business attire.”

The following day, Henry walked into a sea of stiff suits surrounding a conference table. He held a Dunkin’ Donuts cup and wore a white Carhartt polo tucked into khaki carpenter pants. Stew wore an ill-fitting green polyester suit with a faint shine. It clashed with an orange shirt and purple tie that looked like a clearance rack boxset. Henry found the only available seat, right next to Stew. Bob Feldman dimmed the lights and powered on a projector.

A video played about the future of Eagle Porcelain Works. The company was developing a smart toilet prototype they claimed would “revolutionize the industry.” The toilet would be able to connect to Bluetooth and WiFi. It would measure dietary contents, usage frequency, and volume. That data could willingly be shared to smart watches, fitness apps, or social media. It could also be secretly transmitted and sold to marketers.

Henry excused himself and walked back down to his post on the assembly line. The conveyor belt rolled steadily and indifferently.