Microstory 2158: No Such Thing as Extra

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Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2

I did more volunteer work today. After the storm, a bunch of people came together to help with the cleanup effort. This isn’t any sort of official organization. There’s a special social media app that they’re all on, where people can stay connected to each other based on proximity, rather than other reasons, like mutual interests. I only heard about it from my next door neighbor, because I’m not on the app, so I wasn’t a part of it from the beginning. They’ve done this sort of thing before, when there have been other issues. I picked up and broke down a lot of fallen limbs, which was not fun, but I did feel like I was getting a lot of important work done for people who were unable to do it for themselves. Working from home makes it a lot easier for me to just do stuff like this, and not everyone’s life is like that. Like I said, it wasn’t a real charitable organization, so I didn’t think that anyone could sign my community service log. So I just wasn’t going to bother, because I only did it for the one day, and I figured that it was just more of a rounding error. Apparently, that doesn’t matter for people in my position. When you’ve been sentenced to CS, there is no such thing as “extra” until that sentence has been completed, and then you’re free to choose whatever service work you choose, just like you can as a normal person. Don’t worry, though. I didn’t get in any trouble, or anything, but my parole officer is certain that he told me this before, and he’s probably right. That’s the thing about me. If someone claims that I should have known something, or that something happened in the past, I often kind of just have to believe them, because I can’t trust my own memory. Anyway, it’s fine; no harm done. I could never understand the legal ramifications, but essentially, I’m required to record it every time I volunteer my time or effort for anything more than holding the door open for someone. That’s okay. A thousand hours is the minimum, not the maximum. I think that this is all meant to get people used to the practice of giving back to the community, not just to punish them. But far be it for me to explain the judge’s intentions. That’s why they sit in that raised chair, and I’m over here. Ugh, I’m getting too philosophical. All I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t have to have a reason to help other people. You don’t have to be a convicted criminal, or a juvenile delinquent. This world is better for all of us when we all try to be better for it. That’s all I have for you today. Stay frosty, and keep shakin’ that bush.

Microstory 1950: Favorite Chaps

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Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software

Myka: What do you think of this one?

Leonard: For me?

Myka: Yeah. It has really good battery life, and a fast processor.

Leonard: Do they just make phones with buttons for dialing phone numbers?

Myka: You don’t want to be able to text?

Leonard: Yeah, in my world, the numbered buttons have letters too.

Myka: Oh my God, you calgian. It takes forever to text that way. If you want something simpler, we can do that. But no friend of mine is gonna have a brick, or even a candybar.

Leonard: What the heck is a calgian?

Myka: You don’t have calgians? They hate all technology. I think the original term sprouted from a movement a long time ago of people whose loved ones were killed by the first horseless carriages, or something like that.

Leonard: Oh, we call those people hoobliers.

Myka: That’s a weird word. Anyway; scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. What about this one?

Leonard: When I was staying at the hotel on the government’s dime, I didn’t have to pay for anything, but I could still see the prices. Based on my understanding of the value of your dollar—which is different from what I’m used to—that is still a lot of money.

Myka: I can afford it.

Leonard: Whether you can afford it or not is not the problem. It’s whether I can afford to pay you back. The offer from the Office of Special Investigations did not come with a rate of pay, and I still don’t even know if I’m going to accept it.

Myka: This isn’t a loan, Leonard. It’s a gift.

Leonard: You don’t have to do that.

Myka: I want to. I don’t need a new job; I’m doing okay for myself as I am.

Leonard: What do you do for a living? I don’t know if you ever said.

Myka: I work in a room full of remotely accessed computers and servers. I don’t have technical expertise, but if someone who’s working from home needs their machine to be turned back on, or something else goes wrong that requires physical access, they send me a message, and I handle it. I also ship and receive their home devices.

Leonard: Oh, that’s interesting.

Myka: It’s not. Things don’t go wrong often. Luckily, it allows me to watch TV all day.

Leonard: Once when I was struggling to find a job, my father gave me the best advice I’ve ever heard. The goal for those who don’t have any special skill or passion should be a job that gives them the most amount of money for the least amount of work.

Myka: That is interesting. [...] Anyway, let me get this for you, okay? I think you may find yourself using the features more than you think. Don’t feel bad about the money. I need to know that you’ll be available at any time. Plus, you’ll be able to install SatChapp.

Leonard: All right, I won’t feel bad. Thanks, Myka. And what is SatChapp?

Myka: It’s an app that lets you track your friends via satellite. SatChapp, the sat app for your favorite chaps. There’s a jingle that goes with it. Here, I’ll look it up on VidChapp.

Leonard: I’m one of your favorite chaps?

Myka: *giggling* Shut up. Of course you are.

Microstory 1824: Red Meat Cute

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Over a decade ago, I moved to a new city with big dreams. No, this wasn’t Hollywood, or New York. I didn’t think I was going to become rich and famous. What I thought was that I was going to get a fresh start. I wanted to—no, needed to—get away from my hometown where my grandfather closed the plant, and ruined the local economy. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely his fault. The business was failing, and this was the only option. It happens. Still, it didn’t feel safe to stick around with my last name, so I escaped. I didn’t know anyone in the area, so I went out at night, hoping to meet some cool people. That’s when I met the girl who would become who I thought was my best friend. She took me under her wing, and showed me how things worked around here. One thing in particular she introduced me to was this app that lets you order food from various restaurants, and have it delivered right to your door. I would later learn that she was kind of playing on my naïvete by making it look like us dumb farm folk hadn’t learned about this newfangled technology yet, when in reality, the city belonged to the test population for an entirely new industry sector. Nobody had this yet, I wasn’t behind the times. The app didn’t even have very many restaurant partners at the time. Anyway, I knew what my new home address was, and I knew how to use a smartphone, but I’ve always been just a little bit careless. I entered 56th Street when I really meant 56th Terrace. So I’m waiting for my food, and watching the estimated time approach, and then I see the app claims it’s been delivered. I look on the porch, in front of the garage, even on the roof, like an idiot. No, it’s not there. That’s when I realize my mistake. I call the app, and the restaurant, and they both tell me that it’s not their problem. So I take a walk.

I went to the bad address, and rang the doorbell. The guy who answered was drinking my strawberry milkshake, and I could smell the burger and fries. I explained to him what had happened, and he was apologetic, but also not? He acted like he was just an innocent bystander who had done nothing wrong. I asked him where he thought it came from. Apparently, when a stranger showed up at his door, and handed him unasked for food, he didn't stop to think that maybe someone else would be missing it. Well, I was none too happy, and I let him know as much. He apologized some more, and offered to pay for it, because he was really hungry, and had already touched everything. Instead, I showed him what app to download, so he could reorder for me, and then we would call it even. I turned to leave, satisfied with this result, when he stopped me. Actually, he didn’t instruct the app to deliver to my house, but to his own again. If I wanted it, I was going to have to stay and share the meal. Okay, I admit, that was kind of a cute way to ask me to lunch. As we were waiting, we got to talking, and long story short, we were together for eleven years; married for eight. Today, I discovered that he has been cheating on me, for what’s probably been just about the entire time. I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m talking about my best friend. I realize now that I should have seen it coming. The signs were all there. She always thought I owed her for helping me get my bearings in the city, and he always felt entitled to take whatever he wanted without considering other people’s feelings. It was a match made in hell. To make matters worse, on my way to confront her at her work, a freaking loose brick falls off of the façade of that first goddamn restaurant I had delivered, and strikes me in the head. I guess I really wasn’t cut out for this city.