SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

8. C-3PO

8. C-3P0 

The buzzer rings, announcing that someone is at the front door of the building and is asking to be let in. I do not know who it could be. Milo does not get many visitors. From my memory, the only time he has ever had someone come to his door was when a mail carrier came to deliver Milo a package, or a Delivery Bot brought Milo a large, flat box containing the delicacy he calls 'Pizza.' I usually insist on making all of Miloʼs meals but sometimes, he says he has a craving for pizza, so I accept ordering from the local pizzeria.

"I could make you a pizza too, you know," I tell him. 

"Itʼs not the same," he says. 

Not the same. Iʼm also not the same as a real human being, but he doesnʼt seem to mind that.

*** 

"Who is it?" I say to the electronic device on the wall.

"Itʼs Bridget, let me in," a feminine voice demands.

I quickly scan my memory for the name ʻBridgetʼ and come up with the obvious answer. Bridget is Miloʼs older sister.

Ah, yes, I remember Bridget. 

We had only met once before, and it wasnʼt the pleasantest of meetings.

Milo had brought me along with him to a family dinner function for one of his cousinsʼ wedding. The dinner had taken place in the backyard of the brideʼs parentsʼ house in asuburban neighborhood. The moment we had walked in through the back gate, Bridget was upon us.

"What the hell is that?" she hissed in a most condescending manner.

Milo explained that I was his robot and I needed to follow Milo wherever he went in order to be able to learn things about him. Humansʼ facial patterns routinely gave them away and I knew she appeared to disapprove of my being there by the way she glared, trying to will me away with the power of her stare. Her birdlike scowl made her look like the prom queen bully who talks down to everyone whom she deems beneath her. I, apparently, was far at the bottom of that food chain.

"Get it out of here, Milo! It canʼt be here!" 

Milo tried vainly to reason with her, but—to use an accurate metaphor—it was like a rabbit trying to plead for his life with a hungry wolf. 

"Either get your fucking C-3PO out of here or you go. Got it?" 

Milo stammered a weak response, but she began to raise her voice, causing many of the other folks present to stare at us. Milo conceded defeat and wisely attempted to avoid making an even bigger scene and potentially ruining everyoneʼs day.

Milo made me go sit in the car. He didnʼt stay very long, though. He was still mad at his sister. He didnʼt speak the whole ride home.

*** 

Before allowing the electronic device to grant her access to the building, I turn to Milo. It is abnormal to see her here at Miloʼs home. She has never visited him in all the time I have been here. From what I know, they really donʼt often speak to each other.

Milo bolts up from the sofa alarmingly quick, looking genuinely surprised to hear his sisterʼs voice come from the speaker, as if the information that his sister was here in the same building as him was a grave national security breach.

"Milo, you have a visitor," I say, stating the obvious.

"Why is she here?" he asks aloud, seemingly not to me or anyone in particular. "I donʼt understand."

"Shall I inquire into her reasons for visitation before I grant her access?" I ask.

Milo pauses. Probably to contemplate having me tell her that he is not home, that he is away from the premises and will be absent for an unknown period of time.

"No," he says, "let her in. Itʼs okay." 

I oblige.