Mechanical Day

By Andrew R. Duckworth

It starts as soon as you walk through the door of the service station, that same whizz, buzz, and whirl of everything, the sound unavoidable. There are a few people standing in the aisles, over at the refrigerators, waiting at the counter. Otherwise, not a sign of life around, but the pretentious parroting of life.

A worker unit speeds by, water pouring out from underneath, leaving a clean streak on the tile floor behind it. “Caution! I am currently cleaning the floors! Please watch your step, and thank you for stopping at ZippinCo!” It has been fitted with a small screen at its front that displays a light-up smiley face. The smile is meant to lend some light to the otherwise bleak atmosphere.

As you step through the double doors, you’ll notice the deli counter in back with different displays where meats, cheeses, and vegetables are supposed to be. There are only a couple selections available for each. The rest are gone. Ham is gone, roast beef is gone. It’s just a synthetic meat available, lab-grown. Who knows what sort of cheese that is. The only vegetable toppings are peppers and lettuce. A person waiting at the counter asks the robot assistant when they will get the next shipment of meats.

“Due to limited availability, we can no longer answer questions as to when a specific product will be available,” the robot chirps. “However, we suggest you try the new and improved power-90, a meat product from BatesLabsInc. It contains all of the necessary vitamins and minerals without the cruelty to animals and harm to the environment.” The clearly disenchanted customer stamps away with a huff and grabs a bottled drink from one of the fridges. He mutters something under his breath—“if I wanted shit, I would have looked in the bathroom first.”

The same robot at the deli counter goes back to chopping through lettuce with such precision it can’t be duplicated, a blur of speed, sound, and impressiveness.

At the checkout counter is another robot awaiting payment from a customer. The customer, a disheveled young lady, continues to check every pocket.

“Your data score, please,” the robot squeaks. “If you fail to comply, you will not be able to complete purchase.”

“I got it, I got it, I promise,” the lady says, her hair a mess and her clothing in rags. “Just give me a second.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she grabs what items she can take from the counter, a bag of chips and a cookie, and begins a mad dart for the door. She crams the cookie in her mouth as she hits the doors with full force.

“Stop! Or I’ll be forced to employ product protection measures!” The robot screams.

She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t look back.

The robot raises what looked like a small pipe from behind the counter and out shoots a projectile. It hits the woman in the back of the head and she falls forward into the oil covered concrete. Another small robot speeds outside to where the woman’s motionless body lies and grasps the bag of chips with a tiny clamp before scurrying back inside.

No one seems affected, as if it happens frequently. No one looks at each other. No one cares. No one feels. It’s just another day.