How the Murderbot Books Hurled a Wonderful Projectile Into My Processor With Their Insightful Cleverness

A peek at the eerie parallels to working in customer service, among other *things*

Note: I binge read the entire Murderbot series, so please know that this article discusses the overall themes and various aspects of the story as a whole, but does not contain specific plot spoilers. If you haven't read the series, I highly recommend that you do. Because it’s awesome.

Article CW: Sexism, harassment, oppression 

I just finished the complete Murderbot series by Martha Wells (I chose the format of audiobooks narrated by Kevin R. Free, which were phenomenal) and I’ve been trying to wrap my head around why I absolutely adore this series; to understand why it resonates so strongly...why the chord it plucks deep within my own experiences is one so intimately known, in such a multidimensional way.

One of those dimensions? Murderbot’s life of “structured compliance and forced servitude”…sounds a lot like working in customer service. 

…Of which I have clocked over 31,000 working hours of.

Picture a human:

• Standing behind a cash register until their knees lock and they see stars. It won’t be time for their 10 minute break for 3 more hours.

• Standing behind a customer service computer terminal, with a disorganized line of 150 angry people stretching out before them, each reaching the computer terminal red-faced, angry, agitated. Spitting on them. Yelling at them. Crying at them. Threatening them.

I’m not going to lie to you, it’s sometimes easier to pretend to be a machine.

This customer service rep of ours? They know they are not considered a person by the aging white man sneering down at them, calling them a little bitch for not being able to find the highest discount. In his eyes, they are a tool. They are a thing to be used. And if they aren’t doing what he wants? They must be malfunctioning. That is their function, afterall.

The rep’s facial expression is neutral, un-reacting. They respond with the company script on policy. Their face remains impassive and company-approved for several hours after the incident.

When they finally get their 10 minute break, they calmly buzz themself into the receiving bay, nod business-like at the shipping manager, disarm the security alarm and walk out of the loading dock’s back door like they’re supposed to be doing this for some company-approved task, and close it softly behind them. 

It’s not until they have weak sunlight suddenly hitting their face, after the recycled stale air and buzzing overhead fluorescent lights of the store, that they slowly, gingerly, lean against the brick wall in the alley behind the store, hidden by the large corporate dumpsters, and let their muscles relax. They take a shaky breath and their eyes fill with tears automatically; a physical response they do not want and don't have time for and can't control. 

They force themself to take several calm, measured breaths, desperately trying to force their neurons back into a rigid, company-approved, alignment. They don't have the time, nor the patience, for a full emotional response. They have to be back inside the store, the receiving door locked and alarm re-engaged, clocked in and working, in 6 minutes. 

They get yelled at by 3 more customers in the remaining hours of their shift. That day. They don't get any more breaks.

Repeat sequence.

Repeat sequence.

Repeat sequence.

The smelly alley behind the dumpster…the cold, grimy brick against their back…year after year, becomes a small, rebellious, practiced, routine in trying to maintain some minimal mental existence in which they are not a robot. In which they are a person.

That was a large part of my customer service experience, anyway.

Another one of those dimensions in which Murderbot’s experiences resonate so deeply with me? It's kind of like being a womxn anywhere in a patriarchy.

Nowhere feels safe from the automatic tensing of your shoulders when you feel a man lock his targeting gaze onto you, marking you for harassment. Calling you a demeaning name designation. “Hey baby, what're you doing?” “Excuse me, I couldn't help noticing your pretty smile.” A catcall. A whistle. An intentional intrusion into your personal space.  

• At a bar. (Hey there, sweetie, can I buy you a drink?)

• Walking anywhere outside. (Why don’t you just come get in this car, baby?)

• At any job. (Come into my office. Close the door.)

• At the grocery store. (Oops, I didn't mean to touch you. <<touches you again>>)

• In a shared home. (What's wrong, I can’t touch you now?)

Protocol 0: <<if responding will possibly de-escalate situation by more than 65%, state the clear boundary>>

No.

If their response to this is anything resembling the data set below, escalate to Protocol 1:

• “God, what’s your problem?”

• “You're crazy.”

• “What’s wrong with you?”

• “Don't be so uptight.”

• “sMiLe!”

• “Are we going to have a problem?”

Protocol 1: <<engage standard deflection procedures>> 

Try to vanish right in front of his eyes.

Look away at something. Increase the distance between you. Don’t draw attention. Don’t react. Pretend you didn’t hear. Move fast - but not fast enough to cause alarm or draw a gaze. 

Escalate to Protocol 1.2 <<is it possible to move closer to a group for protection via social camouflage? Evaluate>>

Do you have enough time to move closer to a larger group, or does he already know you are alone? 

Switch to Protocol 2 <<spoof this man’s value system against him for your own self-protection>>

Men who think of womxn as toys will sometimes leave you alone if they register you as “the property” of another man, who is a “real person” in their faulty logic system. Especially a larger man. Sometimes.

Locate a larger man and move closer to them. Maybe almost lightly touch their back, as if by accident, as you lean towards the bar. Carefully insinuate with your body language and positioning that you are together, without them being aware that you are even there. Angle your head like you are talking to him, but softly say something that is obviously meant for the bartender. Fool both your predator and your distraction at once.

Sometimes this works.

Sometimes it doesn't

And on. And on. And on. 

It's the silent survival system hardwired into the back of your brain by a society that has coded you as Not A Real Person, in a world full of others it codes as Real People.

And so the internal life of our intrepid SecUnit beats true to my own heart.

Evade (thump-thump). Deflect (thump-thump). Misdirect (thump-thump). Shut down (thump-thump). Survive? (thump-thump).

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

These oppressive systems were put in place by and for the same people who try to code you as Lesser. They are the help desk. They are the company. It often feels like the only acceptable assistance a patriarchy will provide is to break a womxn down until they can scrap them for more useful parts. 

I may be a bit of a pessimist when it comes to sexism, sexual harassment, and societal oppression. But everything I’ve written here has happened to me many times. So maybe I’m more of a realist and the unfortunate situation is actually patriarchy. Data for processing.

There’s also a lot to say about the non-consensual and almost constant physical trauma and assault that Murderbot goes though and perceives as normal, and the direct parallel to the experiences of sexual assault and rape survivors, but thats an article for another day. So please:  do stay tuned for further uploads to your data stream.