WANTED: One Sane Man
By Frank M. Robinson
Personnel Incorporated bragged that they
could supply a man for any job. Maxwell doubted
this, needing a space pilot for the first Lunar
trip. Now, if he had just asked for a lunatic....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
June 1955
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The small man adjusted his bi-focals and stared critically at thehuge brass nameplate over the glass entrance doors. The plate read"Personnel Incorporated" in neat, modest lettering. Directly above theplate was a traveling neon sign which informed the public in letterssix feet tall that:
PERSONNEL CAN SUPPLY THE MAN FOR ANY JOB!—SEVENTY-FIVE PER CENTOF THE PERSONNEL PROBLEMS ON THE AMERICAN CONTINENT ARE HANDLED BYPERSONNEL—DOES YOUR JOB SEEM BORING LATELY? SEE PERSONNEL AND BEPSYCHOLOGICALLY FITTED FOR YOUR WORK!—PERSONNEL CAN SUPPLY THE MAN FORANY JOB!—SEVENTY-FIVE PER CENT OF THE....
The small man looked at it for a minute and turned to his tallcompanion.
"Tell me, Maxwell, why the seventy-five? Why not eighty oreighty-three?"
Maxwell glanced up at the sign. "If they do seventy-six per cent ormore of the business, they're a monopoly. It must pain Whiteford tohave to hold himself down to only seventy-five."
"Whiteford?"
Maxwell looked surprised. "You haven't heard of him? The newest boywonder in the business world? He's the genius who runs this modernslave market." He looked at his watch. "And, incidentally, he's alsothe guy we've got an appointment with in five minutes."
They joined the crowds streaming up the wide, granite steps and foundthemselves in the large entrance lobby, directly opposite the batteryof ascending elevators.
The small man approached the starter. "—ah—pardon me, but would youtell us what floor Personnel Incorporated is on?"
The starter looked shocked. "Poisonnel ain't just on one floor, Mister,it's the whole building. Who'dja wanna see?"
"We wanted to—well, that is—whoever's in...."
The starter brushed him aside. "Step outta the way of the passengers,Mister. Be with ya in a second.... Okay, lady, maid soivice anddomestics is on the thoity-foist floor. Don't shove in the elevator,please! Next elevator, please!"
He turned back to the small man.
"We got administration on the foist floor. Second floor, automotive andtransportation. Assemblers, welders, painters, cushion upholsterers,sprayers, mock-up men, testers and greasers. Thoid floor, electrical.Solderers, cabinet workers, wirers, draftsmen, coil-winders, and designexpoits. Next floor, entertainers. Everything from acrobats to zitherplayers and concert ottists. Fifth...."
"We want to see Whiteford," Maxwell cut in impatiently.
The starter looked impressed. "The Chief, eh? Administration's onthe foist floor, like I told ya, Mister. Straight down to the end ofthe curridor and to your left. Ya can't miss it." He had a secondthought and turned and shouted after them. "If ya want a job, GeneralEmployment's on the second curridor to your right!"
"Think this will do any good?" the small man asked, mopping the sweatoff his bald head.
"We don't have any choice. We've got to try it." Maxwell pushed openone of the double swinging doors marked "Office of the President."
They walked into the outer fringes of a whirlpool of noise and bedlam,rivalin