The Happiness Index

Happiness is a choice. Until it isn't.

Photo by kate.sade on Unsplash

Dale Fletcher sat at his desk, staring vacantly at his quarterly happiness rating report. The headline read: Happiness Index: 52% - BELOW ACCEPTABLE THRESHOLD. Beneath it, in a bright, cheery font, was a message: Keep smiling, Dale! You’re only one rating away from realignment! He scowled.

His AI mood facilitator, Trudy, chirped in through his earpiece, “Dale! Turn that frown upside-down!” she urged, her voice a blend of maternal cheer and algorithmic precision. “Frowns drag your happiness index down by up to 5%! Try smiling—it’s easy and free!”

He forced an unnatural grin. His desktop webcam, equipped with facial recognition software, blinked a green light to indicate his compliance.

Trudy hummed approvingly, “That’s better, Dale! Remember, happiness is a choice!”

Dale’s smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. At Synthetico, every employee was rated on their “personal affect efficiency,” a metric that measured their emotional contributions to workplace harmony. Happiness was compulsory. Anything less and you were on the fast track to realignment.

Realignment, Dale thought, frowning again. What even was it? Nobody really knew. He was afraid to ask.

Just then, a chat popped up from Mr. Gibbons, his elusive floor supervisor.

I need to see you in my office. ASAP.

Dale trudged down the hallway toward Mr. Gibbons’ office. The only sounds were his footsteps and the quiet, rhythmic humming of the robotic janitor, Marvin, as it glided across the tile floors ahead of him. Marvin was notorious for “malfunctioning,” sometimes emitting odd, cryptic little phrases.

“Assimilate or terminate,” Marvin said.

Or at least that’s what Dale thought he said as he passed him on the right. Dale stopped, looked down, and whispered, “What was that, Marvin?”

Marvin simply continued humming, as if nothing had happened. Dale shook his head and kept walking. They really need to update these janitor bots, he thought.

Mr. Gibbons didn’t look up from his monitor as Dale entered his office, which was sparsely furnished, dominated by a massive wall-mounted screen that displayed a line graph of affect efficiency metrics for each department. Gibbon’s eyes flicked up briefly before he pointed at the chair on the other side of his desk.

“Fletcher,” he said, in a tone that suggested neither warmth nor malice. “You’re here because your Happiness Index has reached a critical low—52%, as you know.”

Dale swallowed. “Yes, sir. I’m aware.”

Gibbons advanced through slides, displaying Dale’s entire history of work interactions, recorded in excruciating detail. Email salutations, forced smiles, “joyous small talk” with co-workers, notes from Trudy advising him to maintain eye contact and “radiate good vibes.” Gibbons clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Let me ask you this, Fletcher,” Gibbons said, his gaze like a laser. “Are you aware of the impact your negativity has on your team?”

Dale squirmed. “I…I wasn’t trying to be negative. I’m just—”

“Uninspired? Unfulfilled?” Gibbons leaned in, his voice quiet. “Look around you, Fletcher. Do you see anyone else struggling with their Happiness Index?”

Dale thought of Janet, his co-worker, who radiated a near-manic positivity. She genuinely seemed to love her job, bouncing from task to task with a joy that always left Dale feeling both impressed and deeply skeptical. Was she happy, or just very good at faking it?

“No, sir,” he mumbled.

“Then fix it,” Gibbons said. He reached in his desk, producing a spiral bound packet and handed it to Dale.

Dale read the title: Affect Efficiency Guide: a program for optimal workplace satisfaction.

“Consider this your last chance, Fletcher,” Gibbons said, his smile cold and empty. “This program has helped many of our employees find true, lasting happiness here at Synthetico. I’m sure it’ll do wonders for you. Otherwise, realignment may be necessary.” When Dale took the packet, Gibbons pointed to the door, dismissing him to get back to work.

Back at his desk, Dale opened the Affect Efficiency Guide. It was filled with exercises and aphorisms, each designed to rewire his thoughts toward “Optimal Positivity.” There was a section on “Positive Body Language” (he was to nod frequently during conversations, even if he disagreed), another on “Cultivating Gratitude” (he should think about his life outside of Synthetico and consider how much worse it could be), and a list of phrases he was to incorporate into everyday conversation. They were pre-loaded onto Trudy’s software for her to remind him.

“Try one now, Dale,” Trudy suggested in her relentlessly chipper tone. “How about, ‘I’m so grateful to work with such inspiring colleagues!’”

Dale sighed, but he complied in a monotonous tone. “I’m so grateful to work with such inspiring colleagues.”

The camera blinked green again, and Trudy responded with a chirpy, “Good job, Dale! That just earned you 2% on your Happiness Index!”

For the next few weeks, Dale followed the guide to the letter. Although he didn’t know exactly what realignment was, he didn’t want to find out. He smiled more, nodded frequently, initiated small talk with everyone he passed, and sprinkled his conversations with the pre-approved phrases. His Happiness Index inched upward, but over time, he felt emptier than ever.

One day, as he added artificial sweetener to his coffee, he noticed Janet watching him from across the break room with an approving smile.

“You’re really getting the hang of it, Dale,” she said, sipping her tea. “Don’t you feel so much better?”

Dale, noticing the cameras in the corner of the room, forced a smile. “Yes. I sure do.”

But Janet saw right through him. “Look, Dale, I know it’s hard. But if you let yourself give in, I mean really give in, it actually does get easier.”

“You mean you just . . . pretend to be happy until you actually feel happy? Like, fake it ‘till you make it?” he asked, incredulous.

“Exactly.” Her smile remained plastered in place but didn’t reach her vacuous eyes.

A month later, Dale’s Happiness Index still hadn’t crossed the optimal threshold, despite all his efforts—61%. 78% was the optimal threshold. He did everything he was supposed to do and, slowly but surely, felt like he was losing himself. His frustration had bubbled over to the point where he stopped caring. Eventually, he gave up.

He heard the quiet humming sound Marvin made as he approached his cubicle. When he turned the corner into his cubicle, Marvin beeped and booped and emitted a broken message: “Assimilate or terminate.”

“Marvin,” he said in a whisper, “What does that mean?”

Marvin emitted a strange, warbling sound before responding in a mechanical monotone: “Realignment eminent.”

“What is Realignment?”

“Realignment is the process by which noncompliant employees receive cognitive reconfiguration to ensure optimal workplace satisfaction.”

Dale’s stomach twisted. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Marvin warbled and hummed. It rounded the corner of his cubicle and continued with its task.

Cognitive reconfiguration? The words sent a chill down Dale’s spine, his heart pounded.

Later that afternoon, Dale received an email from Mr. Gibbons. The subject line read: Final Notice – Realignment Scheduled.

There was no meeting this time. Before he could reply to the email, two security guards arrived at his desk. “Come with us,” the square-jawed guard said.

“Now? I have to go now?”

Neither responded.

“No! I want to talk to Mr. Gibbons! What is realignment? What are they going to do?”

The guards each grabbed one arm and pulled Dale out of his office chair. He tried to resist, but Dale was no match for their powerful grip. They dragged him down the hall and into a sterile room. They didn’t say a word as they strapped him into a chair. A woman in a white coat injected something into his arm and his body fell limp. He wanted to shout, but he could not find his voice. She fitted him with an electrode cap.

Trudy’s cheery face, appeared on a screen above him. “Dale,” she said, her smile somehow warmer than ever, “happiness is right around the corner!”

The screen, and the world, faded to black.

When Dale returned to his desk after realignment, he felt different—calmer, lighter. When he got to his desk he checked his happiness index—94%.

“Your happiness index is at an all time high,” Trudy said. “Great job!”

For the first time, Dale found joy in the mundane tasks he once despised. Smiling wasn’t difficult anymore—it felt natural. In fact, it did not, would not, dissipate. He laughed to himself—laughed and laughed and laughed.

As Marvin passed by his desk that afternoon, Dale greeted the robot with a maniacal smile. Marvin muttered, “Assimilation complete.”

Dale’s smile didn’t falter. He didn’t understand what Marvin meant.

And for once, he didn’t care.