Young Writers Society

"Sir/m'am what is your google emergency?" I spat out as another customer entered the room. The afternoon was long and boring; for the last 20 minutes or so I'd been exhausted. The digital clock next to my workplace happily read 5:56 so that meant only four more minutes of tedium until I could walk upstairs, chew on some dinner bits, and pass the hell out until next week.

My mind wandered, a side effect of the brain fog which landed me this meanial life gig in the first place, then I remembered I statistically had atleast 2 more customers to serve before my shift was done. 

I looked up and noticed the customer who hadn't answered me was a hulking man and he had crept up uncomfortably close to my desk. Not only was he big in height but he was extremely overweight, on the scale of 350+ pounds if I had to guess. Also he was sweating, profusely. My desk was atleast a couple feet from him, but I couldn't help but notice the small smell creeping up on me.

"Sir what is your google emergency? My name is Ashley, a google reposit terminal representative, we're very sorry for the wait. I'm ready to assist you now."

I looked at him but he did not answer right away. His eyes were pointed to the floor. His accent was thick and awkward. 

"I-I'd liiiiike soomem poorngnography. I-I-I meanen I'd loke to up to pornography. I mean I'-I'd liike to lookek up some pornography. Some bondeege, on a thumbtack flashdrive please. I will pay for cost off drive."

My face did not falter and my response was immediate. Weirdos like him came in here from time to time, even if the federal government and Google coorporation made every effort to stop them. 

"Sir this google reposite terminal is for internet search emergencies only. You have 5 days, thats 120 hours per week to download anything legal, including adult content, on your own private computer to view at your leisure. These centers, which are open for only 2 days per week, may only be used for emergencies such as fraud, emergency communications with family in a third world country, or --"

"I'm sororry bot-but this is an emergency. You seeh my huse recentlyy burnded down and only todah was gotten new compooter. MY body goes throguh withdrawals, why am speking weried."

The audacity of this man, this subhuman. To ask a pure women like me who had never so much as touched herself innapropriately to look up these vile things. I would not give him more than one more chance before pressing the big red button below my desk and letting security take care of him.

"According to the Productive Rights act of 2057 the internet is yours to use as you please for 5 days a week and even the remaining two providing it is an emergency. The government does not consider the acquisition of adult content to be an emergency so I will have to ask you kindly to leave. If not I will be forced to --"

He moved in close to my desk and stuck his body out so that the fat drooped all over my desk. His hands, which were surprisingly fast grabbed me by my shirt. He grabbed my left breast and I screamed. Damn google and their privacy, nobody could hear my call in this soundproof room.

"You arerrr abot. I will not telel anybobby if you do thids simdple minute request for mee."

His hand began to fondle me. It wasn't exactly reflex timing but my hands were immediately trying to get his off. I dug my nails into his sweaty palms (which stained my blouse, ew) and eventually struggled free.

"Sir please get away from me," I said, moving my chair away from him but also away from the big red button that would set me free so I could end my shift. My eyes, for a moment, could not concentrate on the situation, but I caught myself soon enough. The man lay in place, and I dared not approach.

"I don't feelel bad becauseess you are abot."

"What do you mean I am abot?" His eyes seemed disgustingly thirsty. I had to make him get away, distract him somehow and make a run for the security button.

"You arrewr a bot. A robot. Rohbot. Made by google."

"Sir, you are against every potocal in the book and--"

"Whare doo you slheep?"

"Sir, if you could please back away..."

"Youre shifte is almost uppe. I made suree toh come when ure shuft was almost uppe. Youh mush be tireded. Justuh fullfill my request polease..." He was a psycho, but somehow he he had guessed right. Even in this crazy, possibly scarring situation, I was tired. Unmistakedly so, I had somewhat of a hard time focusing even on this conversation.

"Sir, how did you know I was tired..."

"Yu are abot, I told you. Botss are experimntal curreently and take lotdds of recharging. You cann only bee awake 2 days a weeek for work. I ccanot wait for botss to buy though; I would loveee a model like you. Now please, plase, look it up for me, only you can with your secccurtiy. Pleasae quick, not much timee."

I squinted at the clock. 6:02. At this time I'd normally already be signed off heading upstairs to my room and --

He was right. I was a robot. I thought I was hired for this boring job because I slept 5 days a week due to my chronic fatigue syndrome but that was wrong. That was just a lie in my programming. During the week I was literally recharging my battery and testing new operating systems and memories. I was able to adequately think on my own and even make decisions.

I got up from the chair. My wobbly legs almost made me fall over in my skirt. "Sir, you're right," I said. "Thank you sir. I am a robot. You made me realize that."

He looked at me a couple seconds and began to relax. He brought his big body back to the other side of my desk.

"And now for a little 'abot' humor sir," I said. "Soon my models going to be released to the public you know."

The man licked his lips to this.

It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. "Well I would tell you a bit of bot humor but I really need to recharge. I can't just waste all my waking hours on debugging too, can I?"

The expression when the alarm rang out was priceless;  he'd probably never been dissed by technology before.