Template:Dkt outsourcing plan

Complicatio: My division’s damned, by unfunny fate To live unloved upon the ledger. We are but cost. ’Tis the rust and stain and curse of clammy gears That require a ruinous peopling. We’ve cut our cloth as best can do But these myriad needed grunts, though housed in meagre lairs And kept safe and well away from clientry, are yet a weight. Each speaks the fractious tones of jargoned tongue Such patter steep’d, til cup is cold, in leaves of dismal science. Each a different dismal one, his language apt to smother. Nuncle: We understand them not. Nor do they one other. Inclusivia: “His”? Complicatio: Pray forgiveness, Lady Inclusivia. Hers as well. Inclusivia: And theirs. Complicatio: Aye, them too. Yea, this is our strife: this bewild’ring ’scape Of contraptions yoked and tethered as a many gender’d beast — Upon whose discombobulating backs our common fate depends. And, O! Dilemma! The very men who work these chainèd cranks — Inclusivia: Men? Just men? Complicatio: Oh! and women — and those unsure, or curious, or as yet unaligned— Queen: The heavens doth anoint! Complicatio: Milady? Nuncle: Pray, spare your testy conjugation: Their majesty doth get the point. Queen: It is a pretty speech so far. But has it any meat? Inclusivia: Or leguminous alternatives. Complicatio: I — we — they — am and are and are obliged. They whose allied cadence powers our truck — Queen: The dismal ones? Complicatio: Aye them, with all their rancour — By their inevitable heft, they play as weighty anchors. Nuncle: “Weighty anchors”? None call the Reverend Spooner! Queen: There are eighty of these dismal scientists? Nuncle: More like eight hundred — Complicatio: Eager but, yegads, inconstant. Oafish! Fickle! Slow! I wouldst speed rate of stroke, only worser comes with sooner. And so, my liege, my battle plan: we set these Morlocks free. Queen: To do what? Inclusivia: To see out their best and carefree lives, unchained of drudgery. Uninjured by liv’d experience: happy, unstress’d — full, fair and abundant. Nuncle: In other words, less gently put, they’ll make the lot redundant. Complicatio: Thus, unbound by work-to-rule, we’ll drive the train Around the clock, without relent Night; day; rain; hail or shine — e’en upon the Sabbath. Queen: But crankshafts doth pedal not themselves, Complicatio. You’ve said you’d let your experts go, so Who shall turn thy grimy wheels, without fault or favour, food or rest? Complicatio: You can hire them by the score in Bucharest. They are legion: all thifty, keen and swift. Queen: But unpossessed of needed knowhow that, by rank and yank, you sent away? Complicatio: There are certain merchants, Ma’am whose special skill Lies in collating squads of fruity youths, fresh harvested from school And putting them at our bespoke disposal. They bone them up upon our musty almanacks — Service catalogues, hymn-sheets, psalters, taxonomies and the like And trainèd diligently, at pace, to stay on message. Queen: What is this “special skill”? It sounds to us like sorcery. School-leavers outperforming world-seasoned hands? Nuncle: “Outsourcery”, they call it. An amiable conjury, Well-known to bewitch a gawping treasurer.