SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

79. AN UNEXPECTED BOND

79. AN UNEXPECTED BOND 

I try to visualize how strange this might be for Ava, this dear girl. She is at a table for two, an entree of veal parmesan in front of her, and practically on a date with a robot who more resembles Rosie from the old kids cartoon The Jetsons than an actual human being. I could see the expression on her face saying I don't really know how this happened.

Well, that is currently what this knucklehead robot is trying to explain to her as I sit across from this lovely girl, her main dish all but untouched and red wine glass sitting empty already.

She asks for another. She must think she'll need it.

She must be thinking to herself about what the dolt robot has just said to her about being the one who initiated contact between the two of them under secrecy of it's owner's profile because the thing was trying to play matchmaker.

"Forgive me if I feel like I just got conned. My naivety knows no bounds apparently. I had fooled myself into thinking that this evening was going to be an interesting, maybe even fun, endeavour where I had eventually drawn the nerve to force myself to be a little more social, a little more outgoing, and maybe things would work out for me, because you never know if you don't try."

I explain my whole story about how I made multiple attempts to get her and Milo, the person she assumed she would be meeting this evening, to become acquainted so that, in my own words, "some form of happiness and worth could come into Milo's life and things would begin to turn around for him for the better."

"Look," she says to me, "admittedly, I am surprisingly impressed at the lengths you've gone through just to try to cheer up the guy you live with - who, really in all honesty, sounds like kind of a jerk."

I have nothing to respond to that with. I have never called Milo any kind of demeaning name, but jerk, in the context of our situation, is rather an appropriate description.

"Why do you do these things for him, Hiram?"

"Because he is my Owner."

"All the effort just because of that? I've never seen a robot go out of his way to this incredible extent just for the sake of gaining approval."

"No," I say this time, though it comes out of me almost sadly.

"I am - or rather, was - content with the life I had. I am lucky to have been with Milo, and have had the security and routine that I thought I did. Most of those like myself aren't as lucky. I've seen them, what happens to them."

"What do you mean?"

"The Robot Village."

I think that to her it's a lot clearer now - a lot clearer to me as I voice it aloud - what I am truly afraid of.

"So that's what drove you to do the things you did."

Her demeanour has changed, she looks at me penetratingly, like she could read all the data on my hardware just by looking at me. This conversation has not gone remotely how I'd suspected. I am treading new territory.

"I didn't know what else to do," I say softly, my head tilting down as if air were deflating out of me. Might there have been as much emotion in my tone as I'd ever managed?

This may be the moment when this lovely stranger had truly come to pity me. I declined to meet her gaze. But she doesn't get up and leave, she doesn't make an excuse to wrap up our meeting. Nothing of the sort. She sits, she ponders about what I have told her. She feels sorry for me. For this poor, desperate imitation-human destined for the scrap heap one day, a day that approaches faster and faster.

I chance a quick look up from the table. She is waiting on me to go on, it seems. So I do. I tell her about Milo's replacement of me up to the point of my leaving. Doing so, I attempt to exert some restraint in the telling of the whole story. I understand it is not wise to dump heaps of information about your life on someone you have only just met. This I have learned from Milo, he has chastised me for it once or twice before.

The nice girl does not need to hear my robot sob story. I have wasted much of her time as it is.

Quietly, she takes in what I tell her, a small nod here and there, but no comments, just patiently hearing me out just as I'd hoped for her to kindly do.

She thinks about what I've told her, twirls her wine for a moment, then looks up, speaks.

"I see. It was your truly last-ditch effort to save your only human relationship, your means to still be of value and worth while society claims you are on your way out, on the fast track to the obsolete bin. Really, your fears are no different from our own human fearfulness of getting old and watching our own lives as they progress on the downslope towards what we know is the end. It's in our nature to try and fight the natural course of life, but in the end we always lose. Or maybe we win. Maybe it's the reaching of the end that is only what we think is the end. And maybe its the journey there that is really the reward. That we played the game, and we played it with everything we had."

I don't immediately respond.

"You're not ready to give up. Are you?" she asks me.

"No, I don't believe that I am."

"I respect the heck out of that," she raises her refilled wine glass in a type of toast to me. I only watch her, slightly amused.

"So tell me," she says, "Why were you convinced that I'm the so-called perfect match?" She crosses her arms, wine glass in her right hand.

"I did an extensive analysis on your personality based on what you revealed in your profile, along with all your answers to the standard profile questionnaire that one is required to do. Then, by process of elimination, I found the best compatible match to Milo."

"I don't know if I should be flattered or seriously questioning everything about myself."

"Oh, very much the former. No one's score even came close to yours."

"Then flattered I am."

I sit awkwardly, not knowing what to do or say next.

"Look," she goes on, giving me the relief of not having to sit in silence before one of us bids the other a good night. "At first, I was skeptically hesitant to trust anything you would say. I honestly thought this was maybe a sick game or a joke or something. And that I should probably run away as fast as I could and quickly. But I have to admit, I never saw myself being able to empathize with an artificial intelligence before. It's a thought that throws my brain into a fit. You have some type of strange charm to you that I just can't seem to place my finger on, but yet I find myself sympathizing with your...incredibly tragic plight, I guess you can call it. You're like the realistic Wall-E of android robots."

There is a momentary pause in our conversation before I ask Ava, "This isn't going to work out, is it?"

She sighs, maybe wishing there were some way she could help this poor thing.

Okay, being outwardly honest, I am attempting to milk this for all it's worth. I am not trying to be scheming or conniving. This wonderful, charming girl may actually be willing to help me. Despite our circumstances, we appear to have developed an unexpected bond and I can sense that she is a genuinely good human being, like Beth and like Natalie.

This causes me to stop and realize that I have met three consecutive human beings whom have treated me better than I'd ever been treated the extent of my entire lifespan. Four, if I count my therapist.

Humanity is really beginning to redeem itself beyond my wildest imaginings.