SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

39. DELIVERY DAY

39. DELIVERY DAY 

When Milo gets home, he kicks off his shoes and slumps down on the sofa, turning on the television but lowering the volume as he presses his fingers to his forehead to distill another lousy headache. He didnʼt notice Hiram when he came in and doesnʼt bother to call for him.

Milo canʼt even remember what day of the week it is. Thursday? Friday? He thinks about it and comes to the conclusion that he is genuinely not sure. The fading together of all the days really has taken its toll. That department store has had its share of less than desirable effects on him and his psyche.

On the television is some news about crimes against robots rising. Itʼs depressing; Milo turns it off. Why canʼt people just leave the robots alone? They never did anything to anyone. Theyʼre all as harmless as Hiram, who probably doesnʼt even know what violence looks like, let alone how to perform it. Even if he were to witness any, heʼd likely be far more appalled by it than anyone.

The TV black, the lights dimmed, no smell of food being prepared, Milo doesnʼt even hear Hiramʼs footsteps coming to greet him. No "how was your day?" or anything. He wasnʼt sitting at the desktop. Maybe he was in another room folding laundry or downstairs collecting the dirty load.

Milo is staring at a blank television screen, not realizing what he is doing until there comes a buzz from the door.

He switches the television to the camera view of the outside hallway. A man in a uniform stands there.

Getting up to answer it, Milo wonders why Hiram has not emerged to save him the effort.

"Hiram?" No answer.

He pulls the door open. A delivery guy stands there with a tablet. 

"You Milo Sparks?" he asks.

"Yep." 

"Sign here."

He hands his tablet to Milo on which he scribbles his signature, scouring his mind for what it is he might be accepting. He doesnʼt think it will be anything from his parents— they usually call ahead of time about something like that, and he hasnʼt exactly spoken to them recently.

But then it dawns on Milo. Today is the day. The day. 

"Alright, where do you want it?"

***

Milo stands stock-still in the center of the living room, staring in wide-eyed wonder like a child on Christmas morning. He has pushed the sofa away against the large window to make enough space for the delivery man to wheel in a gigantic package almost the size of a refrigerator and set it down in the center of the room before quietly leaving.

It is a five-and-a-half-foot high cardboard box that stands upright with large block letters on the sides of it, making clear that it had come from Science - Fiction Fact Android Technologies.

Today was their big release of the Class Threes. All over the country, people like Milo who had pre-ordered one would be receiving theirs at their door and seeing them in person for the very first time before anybody else.

Milo really did feel like a kid at Christmas again. This really must be what that was like, for it was a feeling he had so long ago forgotten.

Stuck to the top of the box, which he had almost missed, was a note with his name on it. He grabbed it and ripped it open.

   Dear Mister Sparks,

We value your trust and confidence in us with your pre-order of one of the very first Class Three models to be released to the consumer market. We hope that it is everything you had ever dreamed of and more! Hereʼs to the future, my friend.

And it is signed in pen by the hand of the very own President of the company. 

Milo holds it in his hands, rather impressed and now even more giddy.

Well, itʼs time to see what the future looks like.

He begins to open the box.