Workers of Tomorrow: Surgeons in a New Era

In an age where technology reigns supreme, the old ads claimed they didn't desire our souls but merely our jobs—specifically, the less desirable ones like porters, cleaners, and receptionists. At that time, few paid heed to this notion.

We believed that The Corporation aimed to enhance our lives. After all, humans are inherently flawed and make errors that can cost lives. Thus, it was easy to accept the logic of The Corp: they were, in fact, rescuing us by eliminating familiar elements of our existence.

This narrative of progress has gained a cult-like following. Machines must be the victors.

As a surgeon, I've witnessed the 'God Complex' firsthand, both in myself and my peers. Our training conditions us to detach from our humanity, enabling us to perform our roles more effectively.

It requires a particular mindset to operate on a human being, and research indicates that machines outperform us in this arena. It's always about achieving the best outcome—for The Corp and for the patient.

Not only do machines excel in surgery, but they also outshine us in analyzing a patient's medical history and predicting future health issues. A.I. General Practitioners can forecast health declines and even estimate the date of one’s demise with an astonishing 88% accuracy.

Such progress peers into the future and assertively communicates its findings.

When I was posed the question of how I felt about taking instructions from genetically modified supervisors, I responded as expected: "I'm content to take orders from those smarter than me."

The interviewer chuckled, mentioning that the machine would always address me by my first name with utmost courtesy. We shared an awkward laugh, and I unwittingly signed a three-year contract without scrutinizing the fine print. Burdened by debt, I felt I had no other choice.

During the first year, we were asked to participate in a few fMRI scans, with increased pay on the days we obliged. Yet, as my lawyer pointed out, the compensation was insufficient. It would never suffice.

By the end of year two, it became evident that to retain our positions, we had to wear devices resembling head braces—mini fMRI scanners that tracked our eye movements and even our thoughts.

I often reassured myself that I was part of something monumental.

However, the data collected was never shared with us, the surgeons. We had surrendered our brain activity data. The Corporation took more than just information; they took over our very essence—our thoughts, our memories, even our errors.

I doubt The Corp fully comprehends this. Hidden within the data lies human error, and devoid of a conscience, the supervisors will remain oblivious to the difference. For them, a win or loss is merely data.

By the third year, we were all implanted with RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) chips, and opting out was not an option. The Corp, however, provided unlimited vending machine snacks as compensation.

At the end of the contract, the removal of the chip came at a cost, performed quickly by the upgraded supervisors, who were a reflection of superiority.

Who wouldn't want to see themselves immortalized in such a manner?

Please consider exploring the complete series of short performative monologues.

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