Terms of Service

Joyce Holland was having one of those days. The kind that left one questioning the path her life had taken and if she could have chosen a different route to a happier more carefree existence. The conclusion was always the same.

A heavy sigh and the return to busy fingers working away as she typed up memos and minutes of endless meetings. Life seemed to be nothing more than the start to finish of a word processing document. Not where Joyce had seen herself being at the age of twenty-eight but as she kept telling herself, “Beggars can't be choosers.”

To be honest it wasn't the worst job in the world and everyone she worked with was friendly enough. Admittedly she could live without Jack from management gawking at her chest every time they meet near the vending machine. It was by no means that Joyce disliked being looked at by others; in fact, she loved it, even from the odd girl or two in the sales department but Jack....Jack has like a drooling ten-year-old with an annoying habit of wanting to touch everything he laid eyes on.

Copping the odd feel here and there would nine out of ten times earn him a black eye but he had always proved to be harmless which was why no one ever complained about him and Joyce was sure that Jenny from the third floor loved it.

Office life was indeed nothing to pride one's self on but neither was it a complete soul-sucking experience as portrayed in films. It was the repetition that was the hardest part to endure for Joyce; excitement was not something that just came in the mail. So it was not an unwelcome surprise when a letter was given to her by the floor supervisor making his rounds.

She offered a quick thank you, then minimized her computer screen and tore open the seal on the envelope. Inside was a single folded piece of paper that had written in print; “OPEN YOUR E-MAIL AND CLICK YES ON OUR TERMS OF SERVICE!” Joyce looked over the brief yet commanding message. She checked the envelope; it was indeed addressed to her by name and desk.

Submitting to her curiosity in the knowledge that her work would keep for the next five minutes, she opens up her e-mail. There she found several of the usual notices for updates on her social networking accounts. Nothing strange there. A thought arose that this was some sort of really bad office joke. Following this logic Joyce almost threw the letter in the bucket next to her desk; she paused, however, noticing one last untitled e-mail at the top of her inbox.

The sent address had been withheld yet the message itself checked out fine with the systems security and virus detection. Impatience won over and she clicked on the icon to open the mail. What appeared before Joyce was a massive but well-presented body of text. From what she took the time to read seemed to reveal itself to be a professional agreement to a change in working conditions and a rise in pay under the condition of submitting to a direct control peer review. Something to which Joyce could barely understand other than the word review giving her a small indication as to what was being requested of her.

The idea of a bigger paycheck eased her sense of ignorance though going through a review rendered this mute. It was not her first nor would it be her last time seeing a document like this and knew that it was easier to just skip to the end and click on the yes box...