"Do you have any artificial parts?"
"That is a shame. You would be sexy with some Model 7 eyes."
Things used to be so different. New hires used to deal with fellow human beings. Now, all human resource matters were handled by beautiful robots. The fact that it was just called HR now officially in every government document was very telling.
"How many sexual partners have you had in the last year?"
"Eight? Not bad, stud. You must be doing something right with your erotic manipulation techniques."
The fact that those idiots in Congress removed the protections of privacy certainly didn't help matters. Each robot was designed to ask probing questions and store them in the master database. It allowed employers to have an extensive and shockingly detailed personality analysis of each employee. The fact that he already had the job wasn't important. If he refused to answer an intimate question it would be grounds for termination. Many crusaders learned that the hard way.
"Do you like oranges or apples better?"
"Have you ever punched someone in anger?"
"Follow up, did you enjoy it?"
"I...umm....no. It was a bad time."
Each question supposedly was formed via hundreds of hours of debate between mental health agents. Sometimes it made sense. Other times it seemed like just a bored programmer having some fun.
"On the female of the species do you prefer the breasts, legs, or rear?"
Bastard programmer. Has to be.
"Do you want to have sex with your sister? Her file says that her breasts are 20% larger than the average size of a woman of her age, weight, and race."
"God no! What kind of question is that?"
Monroe wanted to scream. It was shit like this that got the crusaders all up in arms. They kept talking about how the whole system was slowly destroying freedom question by question. Control of course had the opposite viewpoint. To them each question brought greater truth about the true mental well being of each employee. If the employer knew the employee they could create a better work experience for them.
"No. I do not want to have sex with my sister."
"The texture and artificial skin of my chassis mimics the breasts of the human species. Would you consider my artificial breasts larger than your well endowed sister?"
Sexual harassment was also a thing of the past. It made things fun sometimes but most of the time it created just this kind of creepy exchange, especially when robots were concerned. Give a machine a body and they see it as just another tool to utilize. The original designers were thankfully all dead, never seeing what their creations transformed into. Sick little puppets of the insecurities of others.
"I'm really not comfortable answering these questions."
"Would you like to be terminated before your contract truly begins?"
A robot was asking Monroe if he thought she had a large rack. It was just so absurd. How did the world come to this point? It was the politicians. As usual, everything went back to them.
"No. I would like to be employed here."
"Excellent. Please answer my previous question about the size of my artificial breasts."
She winked. They were designed to be sexy versions of real people. It was supposed to put people in a good mood and make them more likely to answer the invasive questions. However, the way they spoke, the way they moved, the way they processed everything always gave them away. The silver skin was just yet another reminder or the cold disgusting truth.
"I expect your artificial breasts are larger than my sister's breasts, yes."
She was flirting with him. At least she was flirting with him in the disjointed manner that all robots flirted. He had heard from some of his buddies that having sex with a robot was intense, but Monroe refused to cross that line. The idea was just so bizarre. It would be like having sex with his coffee machine.
"Thank you. Next question. If you had to punch a five year old child where would you injure the child?"
No specifics of course. She asks the question like it is a perfectly normal question to ask and not some deranged composite of personality data.
"When you speed on the highway how much do you go over on average?"
"12 miles per hour."
"Do you have violent thoughts at least once a day?"
"Do you eat three meals per day?"
"Do you have sexual thought at least twice a day?"
"Follow up question. Do you think machines are sexy?"
He puts extra emphasis on the word and stares into her mechanical eyes. She pauses for just a moment. She seems to be processing the information. Was her little mechanical heart broken?
"I think we are done here, Monroe June Smith. Thank you for your time. You are now authorized to begin work distributing clothes buying advice to future customers on the 3rd floor of department store number 67895. You can pick up your work tag at desk number 74 on floor eight."
"Oh, thank god. I can't wait to get away from you."
"Welcome to the company, sexy."
The job search is finally over. I start my new job in about two weeks. What does this mean for you? It means I can now write more often without feeling guilty about it. This directly translates into more posts on this blog again. It's been a rough 8 months or so but I think things are looking up.