Disposable

"At least most furniture gets recycled," Dave offered. Taking advantage of the lull accompanying Mac's stare, he turned to Jim. "What've you got?"

"Shoes," he said, then held up his other bag. "And clothes for the fabricator."

Another predictable snort from Mac, as he moved aside for the person ahead of him to leave the queue. They appeared uneasy with the person standing behind them. "'Cause god forbid you should ever use your clothes more than once."

Jim looked dubious. "Yeah, it's called hygiene."

"We did fine with washing clothes between uses."

"There's nothing stopping you washing yours," Dave said, belatedly appending, "apart from them no longer making washing machines." This argument met little welcome in Mac's simmering glare, leaving Dave to turn his attention to Jim.

Who ploughed on with the conversation. "Besides, what if you lost weight? Or gained weight and chose not to have a weight removal process. You'd have to replace them all then, wouldn't you? And in the old days didn't you just throw 'em out rather than get them refabricated? Seems kinda wasteful."

A scowl rippled across Mac's face as he had to admit, "okay, so a few things are better, but the point is that stuff used to last longer, and you'd get more use out of them."

His brain exhibiting little interest in checking his thoughts en route to his mouth, Jim interrupted. "What about food? You wouldn't eat stuff a few times would you, 'cause that'd be like, ewwww..."

"No, we..." Mac glared at him. "Have you had a hyperactivity graft or something?" He bit back any further retort as desks opened up, and he and Jim moved forward. He didn't wait for the attendant to speak, stating loudly, "the sounds gone on it. I want it fixed."

Fixed in the headlights of his glare, the poor girl tried mouthing a few responses, before settling on, "I'll have to check with my supervisor."

His glare didn't shift, but she managed to scurry away from it a moment later.

"Can I have the new aardvarki design to replace it, please?" Jim said to his attendant, cheerfully oblivious to the storm brewing nearby.

"Aardvarki?" the attendant said.

Jim nodded with enthusiasm. "Yeah, it's new out today."

Finally turning his head, Mac again found Dave's eyes, his tone gaining heat and volume. "Y'see this. This is what's wrong with society. Everyone's been taught they gotta have the new thing, right now. There's no time for craftsmanship, stuff's gotta be produced as fast as possible, just bang it out as a temporary thing. Hell, name me just one thing that lasts longer than it used to."

"The human body," Jim offered in a cautious tone, bemused by the unexpected anger he seemed to be the recipient of.

The technician apparently cleaning his stuff away, Dave saw no reason not to fully enjoy the entertainment. "He has a point. Medical advances mean we live longer, with fewer problems."

"Okay," Mac ground the admission out from behind gritted teeth. "I'll admit that... although technically it's repairing rather than replacing, which actually supports my point."

"What was the point again?" Dave asked, managing to keep a straight face.

It took a moment for Mac to review his rant and find one. "Stuff could last longer if more care was taken. But, instead, everythin's becoming so disposable."

"And trees tend to last longer," he knew he shouldn't, but Dave was beginning to find a perverse enjoyment in goading the rant. "Since books are obsolete now Readers are more ecologically acceptable."

That seemed the final spark needed. "Oh, for... A few trees last longer where they're not cleared for more buildings, needed because the population is out of control, because we're all bein' genetically engineered to live longer, healthier lives, and because most of the non-forested land is used up as dumps for constantly replaced electronics that can't be recycled, but which we have to keep throwing out, because that's just the way things are. What the hell are we gonna do when we've finally run out of space to keep this garbage, and out of material to make new stuff? Find another planet and start over? And just have the garbage from the new planet sent back here."

His diatribe having risen to what could justifiably be called a rant, and his volume to almost a scream, a good portion of the queue was beginning to dissipate at an accelerating rate, those remaining appearing too startled to run for cover from the wild-eyed madman. The only ones not openly considering flight were the approaching pair of policemen. Caught up in his rhetoric, Mac didn't notice until they'd taken firm hold of his arms.

"C'mon, old timer," one said in an indifferent tone of practised amiability, as they hauled him away over his panicked objections. "Let's get you fixed up with a nice shiny new personality."