For as long as I can remember, I've always felt closer to machines than people. I understand machines, they're easy. When one of them starts acting funny, I just grab a screw driver, open it up and take a look inside. It's not hard--hell, there's even a manual! Chances are it's just a short circuit or faulty wiring. I just need to follow the instructions and there you have it, good as new.
I can't crack open a person who confuses me. I can't just tighten a bolt or solder some wires. I need to watch a person closely to truly understand them. People don't come with a manual, that's for sure, and I like manuals. It's easy to read instructions, it's not so easy to interpret things like body language or tone of voice.
When I was a kid, I always struggled with tone of voice. People told me I sounded monotonous and bored all the time. That was when I turned to the Andies for help. Andies only have two tones, high and low, and they fluctuate between the two in a predictable kind of way. It was easy to learn from them because it was always the same; raise your voice at the end of a question, emphasize the important words. People are generally less consistent because they take their knowledge of socializing for granted. They believe that, as an adult, I should just understand the subtleties of language. I believe that, as complicated creatures with unique thought processes, we should be less subtle and just say what we mean.
Like the Andies. They always tell you everything you need to know. They don't withhold information or play games--not unless you tell them to. I guess my respect for the Andies blunt, straight forward, honesty is what got me started as a reprogramming technician. It's a job that anyone could do, but not as good as me. That's because nobody wants to face the truth behind my job. People always think of me as some sort of therapist. They think I help the Andies reconsider the pros and cons of their behaviour, or walk them through some sort of life crisis. The truth is, I'm more of an executioner than a therapist.
People like to imagine that I'm a health professional, or some sort of behavioural scientist, because it's easier than the truth. Everyone wants to believe that this machine which has worked so hard for them is going be able to be strong and overcome what ever issue might be plaguing their circuits but when Andies come to me, they never leave. Sure, their bodies walk out the front door intact but their minds are all rearranged. You give me your sad or slow old friend and I send him back a completely different person.
Of course, my boss is always reminding me not to think of them as people because, as history has proven, the shit always hits the fan just as I'm about to...