Quality assurance was a thankless task. It was one of the few jobs in manufacturing left for humans. Between automation, A.I., and forking, the total number of jobs left for real people was minuscule.. Quality assurance, though, took a present, human mind.
Emory hated his job. If he had an ounce of charisma or talent, he could have escaped his fate, but instead he was stuck in the silent, dimly-lit assembly arcology. The lights would adjust once he finished the day’s work, but it didn’t do much for his mood.
He checked his messages. It was his turn to serve. Emory changed the product specs on the assembly line. If the higher-ups needed defective water purifiers, he could provide.