He programs, he optimizes, he thinks. And once he is finished there waits satisfaction.

“Thank you for all your hard work” his boss says “We really appreciate it”

Words are not easy for him, so he doesn’t speak. Only smiles and nods and blinks. He doesn’t say that the software was challenging to write. That there was a hard segment that stormed against him for weeks. And were it not for his diligence and effort, would have way-laid the project by months.

He does not say that the elegance found in file ‘Algorithm_search.c’ was something that the great artist Michelangelo would have been proud of. He had removed several thousand lines of code, and then optimized it in turn. This had increased the speed of the algorithm by over 80%.

He doesn’t mention that he has not slept well for several weeks. Not the pressures of the job, no far from it. More that he is concerned of what the code he is creating will eventually do.

“What do you mean they are upgrading the software?” he can hear the worker asking. “I’ve labored here for over twenty-five years! Now some dumb machine is going to do better than me?”

The programmer feels bad. So he emails his boss the next day and asks him if maybe they are not doing the right thing. If maybe they are hurting people.

“No-way-jose!” his boss cheerily says “This next version we are releasing is going to be great!”

So the programmer tunes out his feelings and sits at his desk. There, he strikes the keys of his keyboard in patterned order. There, he concentrates and blinks. Blurring away the passing of time.

Now, he looks down at his wrinkled hand, spotted with age. Extended out before him in supposed congratulatory offering as it shakes it’s partner. The hand of his new and much younger boss. “Thank you for all your awesome work!” his boss says “We couldn’t have asked for a better employee and are sorry to see you go.”

Go? The programmer wonders. Where am I going?

“I fought to keep you, I truly did. But the share holders, they see you and your team as excess now that we have the creator-program finished.”

The programmer gulps and shuffles his feet. Fear gripping so hard that he feels the squeaking of soles on the expensive tile beneath. It vibrates his clenched teeth.

“You do understand don’t you?” the man that was his boss asks “I mean, what logic is it to keep a group of employees now that we have the God of programs? A program that can create others in it’s own image.”

The programmer could find no error in his logic. The recession and the damage resulting from it, only amplified the argument. So he dropped his head, and stared down at the cardboard box that he gripped between bicep and forearm. There, in the box, were nicknacks from thirty years of employment. From a life-time of work.

“It’s probably all for the best” the chipper tone sounding as artificial as the programmer currently felt. “I am sure you are on to bigger and better things.” His previously new boss smiled as he let go the hand-shake.

The programmer looked up, away from the box. His eyes setting hard on his former new bosses gaze. And he knows not what to say. Words are never easy for him, so he doesn’t speak. Only smiles and nods and blinks.