The algorithm flagged Clara's work performance as "suboptimal" on a Tuesday. Seventeen years of customer service excellence, reduced to a red indicator on her supervisor's dashboard.

"The AI handles 90% of calls now," her supervisor said, not meeting her eyes. "But we're offering a retraining program. Six weeks. Digital customer experience design."

Clara touched the silver customer service pin on her lapel – "15 Years of Excellence" – and thought of all the elderly clients who'd specifically asked for her, who'd sent holiday cards thanking her for explaining their bills with patience, for remembering their grandchildren's names.

At home, her laptop displayed a jumble of job listings. Customer service positions: "AI proficiency required." Call center roles: "Bot management experience preferred." Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, muscle memory from decades of typing client notes suddenly useless.

Her daughter peered over her shoulder. "Mom, you're really good at explaining things. Remember how you taught Mrs. Rodriguez to use her smartphone? That's basically what UX designers do."

Clara had spent her lunch breaks helping Mrs. Rodriguez FaceTime with her grandchildren in Mexico. The elderly woman had cried with joy when she first saw their faces on the screen. "You make the complicated simple," she'd said.

The retraining program application glowed on her screen. Clara thought of how she'd adapted from paper files to digital systems, from phone calls to emails to chat interfaces. How she'd learned to translate technical jargon into human understanding.

She began typing, not about her customer service metrics or call resolution rates, but about Mrs. Rodriguez, about the human side of technology. About seventeen years of building bridges between people and machines.

The submit button waited. Clara took off her customer service pin, set it beside the keyboard, and clicked.