But as you lie awake in bed that night, you ponder the following questions:

 

What kind of responsibility does Ton-o-Fun have to its ultimate consumers, the children? Should we be concerned the game might encourage children to mimic serial killers?  Are we encouraging deviant behavior?

   

  • On the other hand, what's the difference between Cereal Killers and a Hallowe'en hatchet through the head? Kids love gory stuff, and pretend to kill each other all the time. If parents don't like Cereal Killers, they don't have to buy it. It's a free country. And Ton-o-Fun is a business after all. If there's a market for this kind of thing, doesn't the company owe it to their shareholders to go after it? [ref.]

  • But what if there's a public outcry and Ton-o-Fun's image is tarnished? That will affect the bottom line too.

  • How am I going to feel about working there? Will my conscience be nagging me every day?

  • What other choices do I have? I'm just a junior. What difference can I make even if I do disagree with Cereal Killers? They'd go ahead and release it anyway. It isn't my role or responsibility to make those kinds of decisions.

 

With that thought, you doze off into a shallow, troubled sleep, hoping that in the morning it will all sort itself out.  Zzzzzzzzzzz.

 

When you wake, it’s a bright sunny morning and the whole world seems crystal clear.  The answer to your dilemma springs to you before you’re even out of bed.  It’s obvious that you should...

 

HERE ARE YOUR OPTIONS:

 

Option 1.1.1:                                          

Stay with Ton-o-Fun and hope that Cereal Killers will be the magic pill the company needs to survive, so that they can produce more enlightened toys in future.

 

Option 1.1.2:

Write a letter to your manager expressing your concerns about the new product.

 

Option 1.1.3:

Immediately resign.

 

Option A1.1:

Consult the Appendix:  Uncle Jake's Handy Guide to Universal Ethics