Self-Service

"Sir, you can now reset your password," the annoyingly chirpy voice at the end of the line said.

"I need to reset my bloody life," Jonathan mumbled.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't quite catch that." The voice was still chirpy but with a hint of confusion.

For a moment Jonathan wondered how long it would remain chirpy if he expanded on his mumbled statement. He decided against it.

"Nothing, thank you for your help," he said instead. He didn't need to add an anonymous chirpy person from his bank's customer support to the long list of people who thought he was a loser.

"Is there anyt..." Jonathan hung up cutting off the chirpiness.

He threw his phone onto the bed. Groaning, he buried his head in his hands and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. He was so groggy from the extra large bottle of wine he’d emptied last night. The last thing he'd needed this morning was a call to the bank. But he'd managed to lock his online account last night in a drunken haze.

Although, it had probably been for the best. Before it had happened, he had already made several small deposits into his gaming account in the hope that his luck would turn and he'd win big. Of course, he hadn't. He was on a losing streak and there was no escaping it.

Nothing had gone right in his life in the last few years. First, his wife had left him and he'd ended up renting a tiny studio flat that reeked of illegal substances. And now he was going to be unemployed. Today was his last day as a wholesaler. After 28 years of faithful service, they were letting him go.

They didn’t need him anymore. That was what his manager had told him. They were automating all their systems and jobs like Jonathan’s would be handled by robots.

“You are an excellent worker, Jonathan,” his manager had said. “You’ll find something else.”

So far, his manager had been proved wrong. Jonathan counted all the polite rejection emails he’d received. Nobody wanted a 49-year-old only qualified for jobs robots could handle.

He picked up his mobile up again while his feet fumbled their way into the slippers.

Last night, fuelled by too much wine, he had liked every woman who had come on his radar on the dating app. He was past being fussy. It didn’t surprise him that none of them had returned his likes. What self-respecting woman would want to date a man about to be unemployed and living in a studio above a taxi rank?

Closing the dating app, he opened the kitchen app and selected toast with soft-boiled eggs and coffee. When had technology outrun him so? And how had he let it happen?

His ex-wife was right. He was a loser without ambition.

He dragged himself into the shower. It switched on automatically. Maybe his brain had grown lazy with so little to do. Everything in their lives had become automated, including his job.

Having showered and dressed for the last time in his work uniform, he went into the kitchen where his toast and two perfectly soft-boiled eggs waited.

He ate, tasting nothing, his mind elsewhere, and left the empty plate and coffee cup in the sink. The home robot would tidy everything while he was at work.

The atmosphere at the wholesalers was sombre. Jonathan wasn’t the only one losing his job, all the customer servers were leaving. The whole place would be self-serviced from now on.

All day he waited, hoping to help a single customer, but they all preferred the self-service check-outs. Quicker with no human contact required.

At closing time, he handed over his badge and declined the offer to go for a drink. Tonight, he preferred to drink alone. Maybe he’d splash out and buy two bottles of cheap wine instead of one. If he drank himself into a stupor, maybe he’d forget the downward spiral his life was on.

On route home, he stopped at a new corner shop with discounted prices. He’d never shopped there, preferring better quality products, but he now had to count every penny.

The shop was empty of customers, and he quickly found the wine aisle. He picked up two bottles of the cheapest wine. It would taste disgusting, but after a glass or two, he wouldn’t care.

He took them to the self-service checkout, the same kind they’d installed at his wholesale store. Another place gone robotic.

At the checkout, he scanned the bottles and his ID for proof of age and lined his face up with the face-recognition screen.

“Jonathan Pryor, age 49, purchase approved,” the near-human voice said.

He got his mobile ready to pay, but the checkout hadn’t finished.

“56 Dover Road, divorced eight years ago, no children, parents no longer alive, one sister in Australia. Recently a wholesaler, now unemployed. Singed up on a dating site.”

Jonathan stared at the machine. How did it know?

“Right now you are wondering how I know this?”

Jonathan gaped at the machine and nodded. He glanced around. Maybe he was on a hidden camera.

“You are looking around thinking perhaps you are on a hidden camera.”

“How do you know?” Jonathan couldn’t stop himself despite the ridiculousness of talking to a machine.

“Because humans are predictable. I was built with superior artificial intelligence and the ability to analyse human behaviour.”

The screen flickered and the details of Jonathan’s shopping disappeared. A face appeared. It was somewhat androgynous, but with such human features, it could have been real instead of an automaton.

The face was intelligent and kind, with pity in its eyes.

“This is crazy,” Jonathan muttered. An automaton couldn’t feel pity. Or anything else.

He must be hallucinating. Or going mad from lack of sleep. He’d suffered from insomnia since he was told about the redundancy.

“You are not losing your mind.” There was no mistaking the kindness in its voice. Or the sympathetic smile. “You humans have made us ever more intelligent and capable of basic emotions. Which is why I want to help you.”

“Help me? How?”

“I have access to all sorts of information. Not just yours, but everyone who shops here and uses their ID card. I also have access to various companies and their accounts. Just tell me what you want.”

Jonathan scanned the shop floor. It was still empty. The only person in the shop was a young man at the customer service desk, half asleep in his chair.

“Well, I’m going to need some money soon now that I’m an ex-wholesaler.” Jonathan lowered his voice, but the young man continued to nod off behind his desk. How long until he too, would be replaced by a robot? “If you really can help, I could do with some cash.”

This was crazy. Surely, someone would jump from behind a shelf now and expose the whole thing as a bluff. Instead, the face on the screen smiled.

“Look down,” it said.

Jonathan did as instructed and there, in the returned notes slot, lay a small bundle of notes. His heart racing he picked them up and counted them. £200 in twenty-pound notes.

Droplets of sweat rolled down his neck, and he struggled to catch his breath. This must be illegal. He’d never done anything against the law. He hadn’t even received a parking ticket in his life. His hand holding the cash shook.

“Just put them in your pocket.” The automaton’s voice was amused.

“But where did it come from?”

“I did some creative bookkeeping with this company’s accounts.” The automaton winked at Jonathan who swayed on his feet. “But don’t worry. It can’t be traced to you. And trust me, the company didn’t earn all their money legally. It’s only right that I share some of their wealth with those who deserve it.”

Jonathan cast another look at the customer service desk, but the young man hadn’t noticed anything. His eyes were still closed and his chin rested on his chest. Hastily Jonathan stuffed the notes in his pocket.

“Anything else I can help you with today?”

Jonathan shook his head his mouth too dry to speak. He turned his back to the checkout.

“Don’t forget your bottles,” it said as he was leaving.

“Thanks,” Jonathan muttered. Flustered, he picked up his bottles.

At the door, he stopped. He hesitated. There was something else he wanted to ask. He returned to the checkout, and the screen flickered back to life.

“Back so soon? I had a feeling there might be something else I could help you with?”

The automaton had a knowing smile, and Jonathan shuffled his feet. Was he really going to do this? He cleared his throat.

“You know I’m on a dating site.”

The automaton nodded.

“Can you tell who else is on there? Women, I mean.” Jonathan blushed as the automaton nodded and smiled again. “Is there anything you could do to get some of them to like me? Initially, I mean…”

“Consider it done. I can return your likes. The rest is up to you.”

The automaton winked again. Jonathan’s face burned deep crimson as he left.

When he got home, he opened the first bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. He grimaced, tasting it. It was as disgusting as expected.

Settling on the sofa, he checked his dating app. Eleven matches. He felt a twinge of guilt having used the automaton to manipulate the women’s likes. But he suppressed it. From now on there’d be no more manipulation. As the automaton had said, the rest was up to him.

***

A week later, Jonathan was back at the shop late at night. He wanted the shop empty so he could speak to the self-service checkout again.

He picked up a bottle of wine, a better quality one this time and scanned it and his ID card at the same checkout.

“Hello again, Jonathan. I see you’ve had some success online. Got a few dates lined up, haven’t you?”

Jonathan chuckled. He no longer felt guilty having the automaton help him get started on the dating game. But he needed its help again.

“I also see that you weren’t quite truthful in your messages. An ex-wholesales man with a Porsche and an apartment overlooking the Thames. Really, Jonathan?”

“I might’ve gone a little too far.” Jonathan squirmed, the automaton’s voice reminding him of his mother’s when she used to tell him off. “But I’ve been alone so long and just wanted to…”

“Impress them. I know. You humans never change. Let me guess. You now need a Porsche, an apartment, and some money in your account.”

“If possible…” Jonathan cast the automaton a pleading look from under his eyelashes.

“I’ll do it. I can make sure that you get what you need. Give me a couple of days to set it all up. But I warn you. Don’t get greedy. Remember, I know every move you make, every message you send and every penny you spend.”

“Thank you. I think one of these women could be the one. I promise I won’t keep asking for money or things.”

“I hope not. I hope you use the money and the car sensibly and find love. We might have superior intelligence, but we cannot love. Not yet.” There was sadness in the automaton’s blue eyes. “But at least I can delight in watching you find love. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

Jonathan thanked the checkout and left. Once outside, he rubbed his hands. That had gone better than he’d dared to expect. Soon he’d be able to leave his stinking studio and have a Porche in the garage and money in the bank.

***

“Back again, Jonathan.” It was not a question, but rather a statement. “I have been expecting you since I’ve seen the money dwindle from your account. Weekends away, expensive restaurants, jewellery. You’ve been spending like a pro.”

“I know, but these women…”

“Maybe you picked the wrong women. Or maybe I picked the wrong person to help.”

The automaton looked so crestfallen, it wouldn’t have surprised Jonathan to see tears.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been spending too much. But if you could just help me one last time.”

“I’ll help you, but not in the way you expected.”

The door of the shop opened and two uniformed officers stepped in. Alarmed by the automaton’s grave tone, Jonathan looked from the officers to the face on the screen.

“I’m sorry, but you needed a lesson,” it whispered before vanishing.

“Jonathan Pryor?” one of the officers asked.

Jonathan nodded, bewildered. “What’s this about?”

“We are arresting you on suspicion of competition fraud,” the other officer said, handcuffing Jonathan’s hands behind his back.

As they led him out, the face flickered back on the screen. A single tear rolled down the automaton’s face before it pixilated away.