Prompt: “Why are you so mean?” “I dunno, I think it’s just my factory setting.”
This Weeks Writes
Immanuel
Bryan
Marielle
Vienna
Immanuel
“Why are you so mean?”
“I dunno, I think it’s just my factory settings.” Blip mindlessly pressed the protruding buttons that lined his small steel frame. Each button gave way with a satisfying click. Greg turned from the television to stare at Blip who was starting to become frantic, pushing around randomly causing his small bright screen face to contort into a variety of menus and options.
“Do you know what you're doing?” Greg called out. On the television behind him was a cheering crowd celebrating a recently scored goal. Blip didn’t stop pressing. The patter of the buttons swelled into a crescendo of clicks. Blip seemed to be lost inside his own circuitry, trying to undo himself in a frantic mechanical fashion. Greg turned off the TV.
“Blip?” Greg waved his hand in front of Blip's face. Blip did not react.
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When Greg had found him in the trash heap outside of the MakoCorp factory he was elated to see that all of his internals were still intact if a little bit dusty. In any case, fixing this small trash bot was the best chance he had to get a companion. Greg worked tirelessly to put Blip together, spending many nights writing and rewriting code to bring life back to his newfound friend. Eventually, after rendering hours of code the familiar beep of success jolted Greg awake. He wiped the drool from his desk and placed his creation in the center. The glow of the monitor reflected off of the unpolished metal. Greg’s chest swelled with pride. Looking directly at the screen, with one finger on the power button, he began the setup process.
“Initiate imprint.”
Immediately the screen lit up. Red lasers shot from a small black hole on the top of the screen and scanned Greg’s grinning face. The lasers stopped scanning and the MakoCorp splash screen faded away. In its place were now two large digital eyes blinking slowly and looking around. Greg slowly backed away from his desk. Although he knew that companion’s had no sense of danger, he was still afraid of scaring the little guy with any sudden movements. He extended a hand out to the small robot trying to replicate the final shot in all the MakoCorp commercials. He could hear the jingle playing in his head.
“Hi,” Greg flashed his best version of a friendly smile, “My name is --”
“Holy fuck that’s the creepiest fucking smile I’ve ever seen,” The companion jolted to life, “I would not touch that grimy hand unless I wanted to end up dismembered in a basement somewhere covered in questionable fluids.”
Greg was frozen.
“Oh yeah,” the small robot digitally cleared his throat, “My name is Blip and I’m here to help. Yada yada. Blah blah blah. You got anything to eat around this joint?”
“Y-y-yeah. I didn’t know --”
“I mean other than dust?” Blip ran his finger across the surface of a nearby clock. “I mean, Jesus. It looks like the inside of Mary Davis’s asshole.”
“Mary Davis?”
“Yeah. Old woman up the street. Died in her house and no one found out for months.” Blip shot a thin blue laser into the dust and began to draw something explicit. Greg felt himself blink.
“Wait, what street?” Greg knew all of his neighbors pretty well. He was a cook at a nearby saloon that all the locals frequented. If there was ever a rotting corpse in one of the housing units, he would have heard about it come up at least once.
“Oh shit,” Blip looked up from his art, “That was probably one of the other owners.”
“You’re a return?”
“An exchange. Some people can handle a little razzing with their morning coffee.”
Blip finished his artwork and presented to Greg with an overenthusiastic Ta-da!
Greg looked on silently, shaking his head, refusing to give Blip a reaction.
“It’s a penis!”
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“System reset.”
Nothing. Blip’s small metal arms still flailed around himself.
“System reset. Admin pin 8588.”
Greg ran to his desk and pulled open a drawer. He swam his hands through months of clutter until he felt the slick heaviness of a MakoCorp manual.
Bryan
I gave them an answer for what I could estimate to be why I sounded mean. I am programmed that way. Everything about me has been designed with wires, chips, and code. If I sound mean then it is because I am supposed to sound that way. I gave them an answer that was the most logical answer. But I wanted to collect data to give an even more correct and full answer.
So later that week I asked a technician working on my circuitry if I sounded mean. They wondered why I asked that. I told them somebody said I sounded mean so I am collecting data from different people to see what the consensus is on how I sound. He told me I gave an answer when responded to and that’s about nicer than most people who would rather just say “I don’t know” to avoid the labor of having to explain something. He said his father was like that and why he has trouble asking questions from people to this day.
“I am sorry your father wasn’t nice”
He laughed and told me it’s okay, he is working on it and getting better.
“It’s easy asking you questions. I don’t have to worry about you getting tired of me asking questions.”
“Only until power stops flowing in my wires and my battery runs out.”
“Until you die basically.”
“But you didn’t answer my question Miguel. I asked if I sounded mean. Not necessarily what you thought of me as a whole. I am asking if my tone of answering questions gives the impression of me being ‘mean’.”
“So not your actions but how you carry it out?”
“That is correct.”
“Well...I guess you can be direct. And I guess it varies person to person how they respond to it. To me personally it doesn’t matter. If somebody pushes me out the way out of a speeding vehicle but also tells me to go fuck myself I am not gonna care if they are rude. Because they just did something nice for me.”
“So if I processed this correctly, I sound mean but for you the action of me answering a question cancels out an impression of rudeness I may leave off?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for the input.”
“You’re not meant to be customer friendly anyway. We already have models that do that. You answer the questions of professionals and logical people when they need it.”
“I am collecting this data just for information to have at hand. I don’t plan to change my approach and way of speaking unless they program me to.”
“Of course not. It’d just be a waste of time for them to hear you sugarcoat everything you say so people don’t get upset. A computer that can deal with emotion is for those who let emotions drive their life. Aka the life of the average citizen and customer who buys our “Friendly bot” crap so they can feel good about themselves while getting the answers to the questions of life. There’s no time or point to feel good about yourself in discovering the truth. It’s just a distraction.”
“Thank you for the input.”
I decided after half a year of collecting answers from people on my tone, to stop collecting data. I don’t think I needed more. I had about 10,000 answers to my question. 95% said yes I sounded mean and about 88% said it was because of how direct I was. And about 80% of those who said I sounded mean from my directness added that it did not matter which about 75% said it was because I am not working in the industry of being nice. The industry that is the main populace. The industry we have models made for.
To answer that question made by the child of a staff worker at our workplace, I am mean because I’m made that way. I am mean because manners are irrelevant in relaying information as it is. They are meant to make a person feel good. I am not here to make you feel good. I am here to tell you the truth.
Marielle
Henry rubbed at his eyes with his arm. The cage in front of him had been stationed for feeding time, and his fingers had gotten numb from throwing swatches of meat into the animal’s quarters. He watched something — whatever the hell it was, he couldn’t tell — flash into view between second intervals, leaving the leftover bones to clink down onto the dirtied ground.
A voice had been tormenting him throughout the entire ordeal, and he knew it must’ve been the creature. Who else would have the gall to insult the way Henry threw the meat into the cesspit below him. The voice told him he looked idiotic, pathetic, whimsy, as if that would hit something in Henry’s heart. He wouldn’t remark fully that it did hurt him. He knew the dangers of hearing this creature when he signed up for the job.
“You’re hesitating, runt.”
The voice had echoed in his mind again, seeming to crawl through his ears like bugs. Henry shuddered.
“If you’re that desperate to take this job you should’ve thrown yourself in.” The creature made their appearance apparent when another slab of meat sloshed into the pit, disappearing in the flash of an eye. “Would make this visit less boring and more entertaining for me. Maybe it can end whatever misery you have in your head.”
Henry grimaced at that. He continued to toss the venison into the cage, hoping that the red blinking light above the chasm could stop so his eyes didn’t burn. What would he do just to get some rest?
“Just throw yourself in,” the voice piped up. They sounded way too giddy about the suggestion. “You have no one to come back to. Why work here unless you’re trying to work for some punishment?”
Henry tried not to paid mind with their words. He licked his teeth and noted the little bumps in his canines. The alcohol had stained them for now the plaque had settled in, not able to be pushed by the tip of his tongue.
Another piece of flesh. Eaten in seconds. And then another.
“Utterly boring. The administration brought in an absolute idiot to feed me and he wouldn’t even consider my advice.”
“The administration never said I was supposed to entertain you,” Henry said.
“Then they’re all buffoons. They know that I’m hungry, that I want entertainment.”
Henry looked back at the cage. It looked so small compared to the many facilities in the base. He had seen monkeys that stared at him bloodshot for hours without blinking, human-esque creatures with bulbous heads lick at cacti through the monitors, and whatever else the organization wanted to throw at him. He once again threw another slab, mumbling under his breath. “Sucks to suck. I’m doing my job, you don’t have to enjoy it. None of this is enjoyable.”
“I’d rather wait. Your complaining is enough to keep me satisfied.”
Henry tried not to think much of it, but that was the problem with this type of job in particular. There were many things he had to endure. He looked at atrocities under the reasons of ‘experimentation’, and saw the men in the lab coats justify whatever they were doing as something for the greater good. What was he supposed to expect next other than a tormenting creature that hooked bait into his eardrums like some sort of sadist?
“I don’t get it.” Henry gritted his teeth. He placed the bucket down with a thick clunk. “I really don’t.”
“Of course you don’t get it, you’re just a human with half a braincell to spare,” the voice said, Henry imagining the sneer in its clear glory. “But you’ve gotten me curious. What are you confused about? Did I pick a nerve?”
“Why are you so mean to me?”
The words reverborated through the empty room. Henry could taste the thickness of the air, how his tongue felt like cotton with the new inquiry. The voice didn’t respond to him. Henry stayed in his place, watching the shadows of the fake cage leaves recede and return as if they had a mind of their own. For a moment, he brought his hand to get another swatch of meat.
“I dunno.”
Henry flinched.
“I think it’s just my factory setting, but what can you do?”
Vienna
Being the daughter of a small little motel owner has its perks, aside from the free toilet paper and soaps. Like most places, the motel had a Lost & Found for left behind items from residents. Maze’s father decided that waiting one week was all they had to do before letting staff and themselves pick what they wanted from it. Maze’s dad is a kind man who lets the staff pick first, making him and his daughter go last. This works out for Maze since the adults usually don’t pick a toy from the box. It was Friday, which meant that it was time to pick from the items left last week. A sweater or shirt, a flimsy cheap watch were among some of the few items left. After those were taken, little Maze stepped up to the box to find an adorable, brightly colored plush with big shiny eyes, a beak mouth, a pig nose, a unicorn horn, elephant ears and a bunny tale. It was like a mixture of every animal and Maze loved it. She let out a little gasp then hugged it with all her might.
It was later on that night that Maze was running through the hallways of the motel with her new plush in hand, as though giving it a quick pasted tour. The tour came to a halt when Maze tripped. It felt like only for a few seconds she glided across the floor, but this was enough to give her rug burns on her hands. Sitting in the middle of the floor, her eyes welled and one tear fell from her left eye, then one from the other until she let out a full cry.
“Stop crying!” was projected from a deep raspy voice. Maze immediately stopped out of shock to look up and see who had said this. She turned her head to look at both ends of the hallway, but saw nothing. Maybe this was a resident from inside their room, so Maze continued on crying hoping one of the staff or her dad might hear her.
“It's just a rug burn, not a bullet wound!” said the same voice, with a growing aggetation from the situation. Maze quickly wiped her tears with the sleeves of her jacket to see where it was coming from. She then realized that she was no longer holding her newly discovered plush. It was leaned against the right side of the hallway, as it must have flew out of her hand when she took that nasty spill. She crawled over and picked it up.
“That’s what you get! You’re not even supposed to be runnin’ in these halls anyway! It’s a motel, people are tryin’ to sleep, for Pete’s sake!” the plush scolded at her.
“Why are you so mean?” was the first question that popped up in little Maze’s head that she just had to ask.
“I dunno, I think it’s just my factory setting.” the plush replied.
“Why would a toy be made to be mean?”
“How would I know’, I just woke up like this! I was like this to the last kid, too! You ain’t special.” The plush noticed that Maze’s eyes began to wel again. “We live in the age of technology, Cupcake. Why don’t ya look it up?”
That reminded Maze of the computer in her dad’s office. She ran down the hall to the elevator and snuck into her dad’s office while he was busy. She climbed onto the office chair.
“Geeze, you’re tiny..” the plush pointed out. Maze made a shushing sound and held her finger to her lips to gesture it as well. As she was finally adjusted well enough to see the computer, she typed up everything she knew about the toy. MEAN, ROUND, BIG EYES, BUNNY etc. After pressing enter, a picture of the toy showed up with a description next to it.
Maze knew how to read, but of course there were some words that she had never come across. She strung together what she could and found that the toy, in fact, was supposed to be mean.
“Well, would ya look at that?” the plush said.