Template:Dkt outsourcing plan

Complicatio: My division’s consigned, by unfunny fate To live unloved upon the ledger. We are but cost. ’tis the rust and stain and curse of clammy machinery To require ruinous peopling. We’ve cut our cloth as best can do But these needed myriad technicians, though housed in meagre lairs And kept safe and well away from clientry, are yet a weight. Each speaks in fractured runes of jargoned tongues In dialects native to their scattered silos. The patter is, til cup is cold, steep’d in leaves of arcane science. We understand them not. Nor they each other. Yet, this is our strife: this is the bewild’ring scape Of contraptions yoked and tethered as a measurèd beast — Upon whose saddled back our fiscal fate depends. And, O! Dilemma! The very men who work these chainèd cranks — Queen: Men? Just men? Complicatio: And women — and those unsure, or curious, or as yet unaligned— Queen: The heavens doth anoint! Complicatio: Milady? Nuncle: Pray, spare the conjugations, sir: Their majesty doth get the point. Queen: It is a pretty speech so far. But has it any meat? Complicatio: I — we — they — are and am obliged. Those eager souls whose allied cadences power our jalopy By their inevitable heft, they play as weighty anchors. Nuncle: “Weighty anchors”? None call the Reverend Spooner! Complicatio: Eager but, yegads, inconstant. Oafish! Fickle! Slow! I wouldst speed their outputs up, only worser comes with sooner. And so, my liege, my battle plan: set these Morlocks free. Queen: To do what? Should we set crankshafts free from work-to-rule To run through night and day without cease And upon the sabbath. Queen: Crankshafts doth pedal not themselves, Complicatio. Know you who can work without food or rest? Complicatio: Aye: In a call centre near by Bucharest.