My life as a Borg

In a past life I worked for a company that seemed to operate under the mistaken impression that employees were automatons. Looking back the atmosphere seemed more like the Borg collective than an office. Resistance was futile.

This particular collective was more insidious than most. Once they got you in they gave you warm and fuzzies for a few days. But little by little the warm fuzzies were replaced by the cold furies. Mistakes were not tolerated. Conversation was to be avoided. Certain people were off-limits. Circus performances were a daily requirement.

For me the daily grind became a walk of the tightrope while twirling fire batons. Apparently someone mistook my grimace of concentration for the insidious emotion of joy. One afternoon I was called to the Borg-King's office. I was informed that the King himself had performed these functions for many a year and never, in all that time, had he found anything humorous about the work we did. I was now forbidden to smile, laugh, or emote joy. Seriously, was this for real? I started to smile and was met by a look that froze me in a way that only my mother had managed.

I shared this new edict with others of my kind. Disbelief stunned them into silence. We managed to find a way to express our humor, careful to conceal it from the Borg-Kings and Queen. But alas we were not successful and one glorious morning we were dis-similated. I was stunned and sad. Looking back it was a toxic atmosphere, but at the time I was too busy jumping through hoops to notice.

For now I'm still working on laughing without first looking around to see who's watching, while I look for a more humane collective to join.