Globall War of Terror: Loss Prevention
Mar. 19th, 2018 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyThis was awkward. I was in charge of the security force, vice Cartwright who had shown a distinct tendency to stay in his new office in H5 Executive and leave the driving (and everything else) to us.
But I was also a vendor, of all things. Not a vendor manager, although I was also that. But a vendor in my own right. [Echo 18] Sundries, subcontracted to our cafeteria provider, renting space adjacent to the cafeteria.
The cafeteria manager was surprised at how many employees I needed him to hire.
"I need the location open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. That is 168 hours a week. I want eight employees, each working twenty hours per week. Eight people who don't work for you, hired from the perimeter camp."
"But you only need to be open 2-3 days a week. Perhaps five days a week, eight hours a day. That's four times the labor cost."
"I want a guard or an employee to be able to buy a kerchief or a snack at any time, day or night."
I'd carefully gone over the numbers. On paper this was going to make a huge profit. But my profit wasn't in sales.
Eight jobs meant eight lives, converted from the nebulous status of the Perimeter Camp to the honored status of Contractor.
The stock was mostly Dollar Store stuff. In other words, junk. But once the last slow boat was unloaded from what had been China, there would be no more Dollar Store imports. We would have to come up with our own nick-nacks and snacks and sundries. And I certainly wasn't selling anything for just a dollar, except small baggies of candy.
But we would find a way. It was not about mere survival, but about morale. A pretense of normalcy in a world gone mad. It couldn't be that awful if you could still get a candy bar or a tampon or a pair of sunglasses, right?
I wasn't worried about theft. Cameras, alarmed door, hold up alarm, drop safe, most transactions through the card system anyway ... and one stairwell and sixty feet from a security control point.
Someone had talked me into allowing a length of DANGER tape to be used for the grand opening ribbon. The Site Location Executive and the VP of HR had shared the honor of cutting it. I'd stood in back waiting for the show to be over.
I hadn't expected the line down the hall and snaking around the campus.
I hadn't expected to see women crying and nearly rioting over the sanitary products.
I really hadn't expected to sell out of soap -- ordinary soap -- on the first day.
But what I hadn't expected at all from anyone were all the hugs. Not just from other contractors and vendors. From Employees. From their managers. Even from my own security team.
Shreve was helping with crowd control, which might have prevented a bayonet injury or two. He really didn't like anyone getting close to me.
Normal matters. Even in an Apocalypse.
But I was also a vendor, of all things. Not a vendor manager, although I was also that. But a vendor in my own right. [Echo 18] Sundries, subcontracted to our cafeteria provider, renting space adjacent to the cafeteria.
The cafeteria manager was surprised at how many employees I needed him to hire.
"I need the location open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. That is 168 hours a week. I want eight employees, each working twenty hours per week. Eight people who don't work for you, hired from the perimeter camp."
"But you only need to be open 2-3 days a week. Perhaps five days a week, eight hours a day. That's four times the labor cost."
"I want a guard or an employee to be able to buy a kerchief or a snack at any time, day or night."
I'd carefully gone over the numbers. On paper this was going to make a huge profit. But my profit wasn't in sales.
Eight jobs meant eight lives, converted from the nebulous status of the Perimeter Camp to the honored status of Contractor.
The stock was mostly Dollar Store stuff. In other words, junk. But once the last slow boat was unloaded from what had been China, there would be no more Dollar Store imports. We would have to come up with our own nick-nacks and snacks and sundries. And I certainly wasn't selling anything for just a dollar, except small baggies of candy.
But we would find a way. It was not about mere survival, but about morale. A pretense of normalcy in a world gone mad. It couldn't be that awful if you could still get a candy bar or a tampon or a pair of sunglasses, right?
I wasn't worried about theft. Cameras, alarmed door, hold up alarm, drop safe, most transactions through the card system anyway ... and one stairwell and sixty feet from a security control point.
Someone had talked me into allowing a length of DANGER tape to be used for the grand opening ribbon. The Site Location Executive and the VP of HR had shared the honor of cutting it. I'd stood in back waiting for the show to be over.
I hadn't expected the line down the hall and snaking around the campus.
I hadn't expected to see women crying and nearly rioting over the sanitary products.
I really hadn't expected to sell out of soap -- ordinary soap -- on the first day.
But what I hadn't expected at all from anyone were all the hugs. Not just from other contractors and vendors. From Employees. From their managers. Even from my own security team.
Shreve was helping with crowd control, which might have prevented a bayonet injury or two. He really didn't like anyone getting close to me.
Normal matters. Even in an Apocalypse.
