56 posts tagged with "Irony"

Lao Liu had worked at "Happy Interconnect" for fifteen years, transforming from a spirited college graduate into a middle-aged man with thinning hair. In those fifteen years, he witnessed the company's rise and contributed most of his sleep. Until last year, the company finally launched a brand new "2 Days Off, 4 Days On, 1 Day Off" work system. Lao Liu felt that his suffering had finally paid off.

"'2 Days Off, 4 Days On, 1 Day Off', how humane!" Lao Liu praised to everyone he met. Two consecutive days off meant he could do so much.

  "Dodging Spring, please look for [Time Capsule] Dodging Spring Office, we serve you 24/7!"

"Your 'flu recovery time' has been updated: 47 hours and 12 minutes."

The cold electronic voice from the smart bracelet on his wrist broke Li Ming's lunch break. He rubbed his throbbing temples and reconfirmed the bright red countdown numbers on the screen. Since being diagnosed with influenza A three days ago, everyone has been forced to wear this bracelet called the "Life Timer".

Old Chen's greatest pleasure after retirement was not enjoying his grandchildren, but researching "dressing formulas." He firmly believed that everything in the world had its own rules, and dressing was no exception. Ever since he saw the "perfect pairing formula for skirts and shoes" on a short video platform, Old Chen had become obsessed.

The formula stated that an A-line skirt paired with white sneakers was a symbol of youth; a pleated skirt with Mary Jane shoes was the epitome of elegance. Old Chen memorized these formulas by heart and even made them into exquisite cards, which he stuck all over the walls of his house.

"Job Opening: Senior Emotion Experience Specialist, no age limit, no gender limit, no education limit, the only requirement: extreme aversion to current social rules and the ability to internalize it into daily emotional expression."

This job posting was stuck on the glass door of the Human Resources Department, the ink still wet, carrying the warmth of just being printed out. Zhou Lin stared at it for three minutes, his fingertips worn pale, but ultimately he couldn't bring himself to push open the door.

Old Wang is an old coder at the company, with more hair than code, but he has a good attitude, known as "Optimistic Old Wang." This year, the company's performance is good, and the year-end bonus is said to be very generous. Old Wang stared at his phone, waiting for the text message that would confirm his bonus payment. With a "ding," the message arrived, and Old Wang excitedly opened it, only to see it clearly state: Year-end bonus: 1.00 yuan.

"One... one yuan?" Old Wang rubbed his eyes, thinking he was mistaken. He opened it again, and it was still 1.00 yuan. He ran to the finance office and questioned Xiao Li, who was responsible for issuing bonuses. Xiao Li adjusted his glasses and said helplessly, "Old Wang, your year-end bonus isn't one yuan, it's '1.00 quantum unit of year-end bonus'."

Li Daqiang opened a restaurant called "Fumanlou" in the county town. This Spring Festival, he launched a New Year's Eve dinner package for 2888 yuan a table. He originally just wanted to create a gimmick, but unexpectedly, it sold out like crazy.

The lights inside the gold display case are a warm yellow, like aged rice wine, making one's eyes dizzy. Old Liu skillfully wipes the glass, his fingertips caressing each piece of gold jewelry: rings, necklaces, bracelets. They shimmer in the glow, like gilded cages. He has worked here for fifteen years, his daily routine consists of wiping, arranging, introducing, and then watching them being bought, worn, and flaunted.

There are not many customers today, giving Old Liu a rare moment of leisure. He glances at the surveillance monitor, and after confirming no customers are nearby, he secretly pulls a small magnifying glass from his pocket. He bought it from an old customer, who claimed that it could reveal every flaw in the gold jewelry. He carefully raises the magnifying glass, points it at a gold ring, and gently moves it with his fingertip.

Old Wang was forced to kowtow. He didn't want to, being over fifty, his knees as hard as rocks. Kneeling on the cold bluestone was a form of torture. But the entire village, no, the entire county, seemed to be engaged in a large-scale "kowtowing performance art."

The line stretched from the village entrance to the village end, and from the village end extending to the main road of the county town, seemingly endless. People were dressed in their new festive clothes, but their faces carried a strange numbness. Old Wang recognized a few familiar faces; their eyes were empty, as if controlled by some invisible force. The line moved slowly, each step accompanied by a dull "thud," the sound of heads hitting the ground, like some ancient sacrificial ritual.

Old Li was jolted awake by his phone alarm early in the morning. He struggled to sit up, feeling as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare. Outside the window, it was gray, and even the sunlight seemed to have lost its festive vitality. On the phone screen, unread messages displayed identical blessings, all saying "Happy New Year" and "Full of Good Fortune." He mechanically replied, his fingers sliding across the screen, but his heart felt empty.

He was a mid-level manager at an internet company, and his usual forte was breaking down complex projects into actionable steps, then running them efficiently like a machine. But now, he found himself as if he had also become a machine set by a program, with the daily task of outputting "good fortune."