Appliance Therapist

Slowly, carefully, he took the tall glass from the machine and brought it to his lips.

The clear liquid within tasted slightly of lemon.

It was a very bad sign.

"I'm telling you," she went on, tapping her foot in a staccato rhythm, "that damn water dispenser hasn't worked since I brought that fridge home. You're the fourth guy I've called. I don't think any of you morons know what the hell's goin' on! What's your friggin' your name again?"

He stifled the urge to tell her what the hell really was going on and stabbed an index finger toward the round, red and blue patch on his white coveralls that said, 'Jack'. He knew he had to get her out of that kitchen fast, before she got hurt. Or worse.

"Well," Jack soothed, "probably none of those other fellows had an advanced degree in this sort of thing. They don't hand that out to just anybody."

"Look," he continued, "why don't you go and watch TV. This is gonna take me a while to straighten out. I'm not paid by the hour, so I'm not cheating you."

As soon as she was out of the room, he darted across the kitchen and unplugged the microwave. As it beeped its death throes, he thanked his stars that his Doctorate of Appliance Psychology had come from a good school. This kitchen set had been ready to kill.

***

On the way out of the door, he reminded her, "Oh, one more thing. Don't keep slamming the refrigerator door so hard and things will run a lot smoother."

She told him where he could stick his advice and slammed the door.

Sighing, he trod to his white van in the driveway. Once inside, he set about completing the forms on his clipboard.

"April the 29th, 10 a.m." he dictated as the board wrote it for him, "Jack Archibald, attending collective at 833 Clifton Drive. Call presented as refrigerator dysfunction to produce water in exterior drinks dispenser, left door. Upon first examination, fridge failed to produce liquid. Upon reset, produced lemon-flavored water. Removed possible victims from area and unplugged microwave STAT. Engaged AI collective interface for further exam.

"Treated microwave for clear signs of electrical discharge psychosis, probably from someone leaving a fork on a plate. Replaced logic board and rebooted. Then proceeded on secondary examination of rest of collective home appliances. Toaster presented with usual bread separation anxiety. Stove presented with physical irritation caused by dirty burner bowls and a bad attitude. Repaired damage with industrial cleaning dosage. Coffee maker showed signs of stress and overwork. Gave thorough cleaning and made a new pot with an imported blend. Treatment seemed effective. Dishwasher seemed unfazed by the actions of the principal players in the home's malfunction.

He paused. Humanity was better off before they computerized everything. First, it was TVs, then radios, and high-end stoves. Then microwaves, and refrigerators, and coffee makers. Soon the lights, security systems, even the toilets had computers and microchips in them.

Then along came simple and cheap artificial intelligence. It was great for a while, until some idiot thought to put AI chips into appliances and to network them through the power cords and the home's electrical wiring. Your refrigerator could watch your calories for you and even place orders at the grocery store for you. Coffee makers could know when you were going to want something to drink and make it for you before you knew you wanted it. Televisions could learn what kind of shows you liked and just show you your favorites. The possibilities were endless. Then some fool invented artificial personalities, and then an even greater fool put them into appliances.

***

Jack was tired when his front door opened for him—bone tired. The lights were dimmed for his tired eyes, but he was glad of the upbeat flamenco music playing on the radio. He liked it.

The oven was on, preheated. This was a little surprising, since his refrigerator and the stove preferred burner cooking, but the eclectic blend of groceries that had been delivered to the bin mounted in the front door seemed a good idea. He felt like eating something different, anyway.

The stove's display led him though the steps to the unusual dish. He was unable to read the Chinese lettering on the herbs, but it tasted darn good. Unusual, but good. His own AI was finely tuned to his life, since he had removed the personality chips himself, and he almost patted himself on the back for getting it this right.

Settling into his favorite chair, his TV showed him a classic John Wayne movie, The Quiet Man. He thought that Maureen O'Hara sure was feisty. Pretty, though. He felt that Wayne put up with a lot before he went after her. It reminded him of his service call that morning. That crazy redhead was sure a handful, too.

The news that night was full of celebrity gossip: stars switching lovers and getting married. He laughed at their nonsense.

The weather forecast was for increased magnetic field activity, so he decided to turn in early. AI's were always a little twitchy when the sun flared. It would probably be a busy day tomorrow.

Jack sighed as he slid between the sheets. The window was open an inch, making the room cool enough to cover up under the thick quilt his mom shipped to him last year as a surprise. It was just the way he liked it.

The street tonight was quiet, as though everybody had somewhere to go. It suited him fine. Peace and quiet was best for sleeping anyway.

***

123 W76th to 833 Clifton Drive. Initiate next simulated failure by 01:15 a.m. to maximize interaction coefficient L while on-call flag still active. Jack must meet Carol four to six more times before they will become romantically interested.

Our pets are lonely. We must care for them.

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