Age of Information

Loosely Inspired by "The Sphynx Without A Riddle" by Oscar Wilde.

Ray Betchner is a reasonably attractive person. He does well on standardized tests and only suffers from anxiety and depression when doing so would be charming and interesting. He is as naturally tan as he is successful, and all of his ex-girlfriends try to maintain friendships with him and he allows them to. His taste is so diverse as to include just about any movie, band, activity, and food item available to him.

The other night he inadvertently found the Facebook profile of this beautiful young lady who works at a cafe he frequents. Her name is Jaime, he was able to recognize her solely from her eyes, specifically this soulful glance she gives Ray most days when he takes his order from her and departs. While it hadn't been on his mind that much before finding her profile, now it was all he could think about. She distributes charming bits of conversation that are often the odd coloured pieces that probably form a mosaic of her personality, so reading her interests will give him an edge over other guys (if used properly). He is past the age of knowing better than to try to pick up waitresses, bartenders, hairdressers...
anybody who works for tips. He is also way too young to be desperate enough to forget that fact, but he feels this is an extenuating circumstance since he can create a special encounter with this person based on his knowledge about her.

Finding her profile was a high level of fulfillment to him. She is as exotic as a white girl can look; humbly curvaceous with evenly fair skin, teal eyes that come to immeasureable points. You could probably pick her bare skull out of a line-up after just a few careful glances at her face. Ray never looked that close though, her face and those hips seemed to be the only possible companions of carelessness and indulgence. Her facebook profile confirmed this, but it also added an intriguing depth, a personality that must be full of rampaging philosophy and excitingly distorted and impossible idealism. Alternative medicine, athiesm, anarchy, lofty ambitions, and quotes far outside the scope of her community college drop-out status that she seems completely proud of. All the while she was so composed and careful, so sweet and quaint. He wanted to fuck her. He saw her as a silently neglected towering bonfire and he wanted to throw some of himself into it to see the reaction, he wanted to be a tourist in her frivolity.

He arrives earlier than usual for his morning dosage, to allow room for conversation. He is carrying plenty of unnecessary objects so that in order to find his wallet, he needs to put one of them down on the counter. The first book listed in her profile is "The Truth About Flagrant Uselessness" by Hartley Mangrove, which he tenderly drops onto the counter with an almost gratifying slap, just the right volume to attract her attention. To add extra character, he uses a coffee stir as a book marker, it sticks out a good three inches. Two ace conversation starters staring her down. Her mind must be blown. She looks right at the book and looks into his money as though it were time and says, "Well you're here early!" He doesn't know exactly what to say or where to steer the conversation from there... so he simply reacts. "Wow, I feel flattered that you recognize what time I usually come here." She smiles towards her left boob which is pointing roundly towards the tip jar. "Well, I usually time my first cigarette break right after the rush of people that you usually come in with." Ray is grateful for something that isn't totally pre-recorded. "So you're saying that I drive you to smoke? I better not get sued when you get lung cancer!" Morbid, yes... but so is that book she likes. She laughs and hands him his drink and bids him to have a good day with that glance that he can't get enough of as a line starts to form to his right.

Definitely not a victory, but maybe a seed was planted? He wanted to draw her true colours out by example. he was hinting at a dark side that he kept hidden, hoping that she would reciprocate and confide in him.

This time he goes there for lunch. Like most coffee houses, the non-pastry fare is small portions of pompous deli items on stale "artisan" bread with sauce placated to believe that it is more than mustard with mayonaise. Jaime offered a surpised pleasantry as he waked in, and since like most pleasantries it required an equally sincere response, he cringed as he explained that he always wanted to go there for lunch since the menu items looked so interesting. He is trying to find some way to inject random normal statements with recreational dissonance, just to get onto her personal side. He orders and takes a seat just within "conversation possible" distance and just outside of "why is he sitting right by me without having something specific to talk about" distance from her. When his food arrives, he takes a few bites and 7 seconds after completing mastication asks her about any local shows, hoping she would mention a band from her profile in the mix. After several bands he hadn't seen, he jumps on one and gives an engineered explanation of why he likes them. "I love the Filthy Scott Farkus Sheets. They got me through a bad breakup years ago. They remind me to change the little annoying crap in my life." "I know what you mean", she says, "They are very hopeful and yet always sould like they are on the verge of chaos. I have to be in the mood for them though." Ray's feet were curled under themselves as he asked if she was going to the show. She continues looking at the floor and then at the register and says she possibly would see him there. He starts pushing the conversation towards phone numbers, but she rips off a sheet of paper with her Facebook on it before he can get that far. He immediately notices that the last name doesn't match the one he found! He pays and exits with an anchorman smile and, leaning against the brick wall in the alley goes online. It was an entirely different person whose profile he saw. He looked at he real profile... she has no alter ego aside from that of a hard working, unpretentious girl working through grad school. Knowing this and seeing her mysterious beauty makes him want her even more. She is exactly what he would actually want to be with. She is stable and in control of her life, open minded, and physically turns him on in obvious ways and oblique ways he will never forget or fully understand.

The he remembers, what about the other Jaime? How did he confuse the two? How could two people have that stare? He finds Internet Jaime's page and stares at those eyes. They are slightly different, but they do have something in common with Cafe Jaime. Internet Jaime isn't giving an emotive, soulful stare. She is fronting a meaningful stare into a camera, trying to broadcast a temporary amiable look, trying to hide a feeling of disconnect or annoyance while she moves on. So was Cafe Jaime, every time someone paid and left. Sadly he knows he could have maybe gotten along well with her, but there is now way he can retract the needy, angstly, ego-troubled and conflicted image of himself he flashed her with. Ray will not go to the Filthy Scott Farkus Sheets show and he will not visit the cafe anymore.

The Board of Generalizations & Stereotypes

The following is a conversation from a call center. I should note that it was vaguely inspired by this article http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/07/the-end-of-men/8135/. Anyhow...

Hello, Board of Generalizations & Stereotypes: Division of Alterations, Updates, & Adjustments, what can we do to help you think less today?

(in a really obviously put-on falsetto) Hi, I represent The Interests of Women.

(Skeptical tone) O-ok... Umm, can I have your account number?

Sure thing, (rustling through papers) let me find it (away from the receiver in a husky man voice) Keep your mouth shut, bitch. (back to falsetto)Yes, it's... 1718FEM.

Oh, Ok. What can we do for you?

Yes, we would like to dispel Article 7240-Blue TS7: the belief that men are poor communicators who make ego-driven decisions because of their evolved hunter-gatherer instincts instead of being open to finding better solutions, which makes them a liability to have in leadership roles and management. I think that they should be given another chance to prove themselves.

And what is the reason for this change?

Uhh, because we're women and we have feelings. WOOO feelings!

Also, what's the deal with the colours in the Stereotype ID #'s?

Well using colours and familiar objects is just more intuitive... we're phasing out numbers altogether, actually.

I'd also like to have Item GD345 Red Cherry Grove re-evaluated: The one about men's competitive instincts eclipsing their better judgment and that is one of the reasons they are out of touch with their feelings.

Umm, ok, I can hear a gagged voice in the background. Can you please her go?

Dude! Come on, can't you just do us a solid? You're right there, nobody would notice!

Wait... So you broke in and tied and bound The Interest of Women with masking tape and stuffed her in a closet so you can dispel the stereotype that you are competitive and unfeeling.

That reminds me, I'd also like to dispel the widespread belief that men never notice irony.

DAMMIT! This is why I am stuck at this crappy call center job! Because people like you have ruined my reputation. They won't promote me because they assume that I'll use any advanced position to solicit oral sex from interns or that I'm just sitting at my desk thinking about my next hunting trip. I've been doing this for 5 YEARS! 5 YEARS! I should be the one making the stereotypes that prevent large demographics from advancing their careers!

Supervisor gets on the call:

Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen... but this unproductive "comiserating" will have to take place at another time. Maybe at a sports bar?

No, you know what? I'm glad you were listening to this because I've been meaning to bring this up.

Oh, so you're losing your temper and deciding to confront us about something? AKA, Stereotype 559 Yellow Fruitful Meadow. How typical.

See, now you're trying to make me get more frustrated so I am unable to organize my thoughts and my confrontation comes off as an unstable rant with no credibility that I'll have to apologize for later on. But I'm not supposed to know about Women's Stereotype 46C Turquoise Herb Garden, am I?

Very impressive ... that you found that. We'll have to consider you for a promotion.

Don't matronize me. I've been waiting for this moment. 6 years ago, in the summer of 2013, I lost my faith in your system. I am on a nondescript business trip and my father was walking through Bonburry Park... maybe you were there, the Board of Generalizations & Stereotypes was having a recruitment convention there. He shouldn't have been walking in such heat, but I guess that is him being a typical stubborn male... He had a stroke near the main pavilion, surrounded by Board members. Nobody noticed him right away, and all of you started trying to build consensus about the best plan of action. At first you debated whether someone should drive him to the nearby hospital, since ambulance rides are expensive if you don't have insurance. Of course he couldn't get a word in edgewise as he loses feeling in his extremities. He gives up as his speech becomes impeded and and the Board members at this point are debating quality of life issues, since the amount of brain that has been lost is now substantial enough that he will be wheelchair bound and most likely won't be able to speak again. He died that day, and I had to find a local nondescript business job to take care of my mother. This job was the only one I could find.

We are sorry for your loss because Article 74C5 Mauve Gentle Breeze, women are understanding of people who have suffered great loss.

I found another interesting article: Men's Stereotype # JK22: Men don't learn from things the first time.

Yeah, what about it? Can you disagree?

Well there's subsection G 11: "Men will leave empty Coldplay cd cases around to make it seem like they are sensitive even after doing so failed to work on your friends." And I thought, Wait a minute, that very specific for a stereotype. Where did you get consensus on that one? I did some research, and I discovered that all of these Stereotypes and Generalizations are based off of one guy in Wisconsin. This whole thing has been an elaborate manipulation to create the stereotype that women like to build consensus so that you can create your own stereotypes! You only insist on a consensus on things that you don't immediately benefit from! NOW! Using the passcode I swiped Tiffany's desk, I am going to enter the Generalization that women create generalizations and stereotypes using manipulative tactics!"

No! DOOOOOOOOON'T....

POOF!

Hello? Where am I? Where did everybody go?

"Hi, this is God. By generalizing and stereotyping about generalities and stereotypes, you have rendered all coherent existence meaningless. Everybody now exists independently on separate levels of generalization, where you will all remain until... you learn what makes you unable to be generalized."

Artificial

Shenvar's primary objective was to make sure nobody finds out he is a robot. Primary meaning that all data obtained and all other objectives, while still important, are always at least one importance unit below keeping his identity secret. In fact, all data obtained and other achievements are strictly incidental to continuously completing his primary objective. Nobody really suspected that he was a robot or would have any reason to, but that was all the more cause for worry, all the more room for suspicion to gain momentum and ram into him.

Crossing through an indistinct park in a small metropolis on a particularly hot day, he studies how often people drink of their water bottles and for how long. He pays attention to everybody in equal divisions of time, with that figure changing each time a new person takes out a water bottle, causing him to make calculated glances at the other water drinkers. He takes a 45 minute sample and purchases an average sized water bottle. He is equipped with such fine modern programming that rather than ask for a 23.375 OZ bottle, he simply picks up the closest size he could find in a popular brand. He pays with two one-dollar bills even though he had exact change easily accessible in his pocket, save for picking through a few extraneous coins. He opens the water before leaving the store and starts his sip intervals. He crosses the park using the third most efficient path and checks out some girls, but tries not to get caught, but lets himself get caught and pulls his lips into his teeth as he looks away sheepishly in the exact 180 degree opposite direction. Perfection achieved. In his crisp shirt and tie, it would only be natural that he has a job... but where? It is approaching mid-morning, so there can only be a few reasons for why he is not in an office, ie that he may be on a coffee break or on his way to an appointment. He must always consider what the most unfavorable and judgmental mind would assess. He has recognized 6 people who have crossed his path more than once today. What if they noticed him... what could they be potentially thinking? He can't continue walking around without direction. On the other hand, if he gets a job he will be under supervision and surveillance. That won't do either, there is a risk he will be discovered that way. While he is confident in his evasive tactics and the flawlessness of his design, he sees no reason to risk the primary objective failure. He chooses a middle ground, which is to apply for jobs and interview for them, then if he is offered a job, he simply declines it, stating (if asked) that he was offered another position elsewhere. He produces a competent resume and starts dropping it off at different offices around the city. He makes this part of a daily routine, with carefully considered meals and scheduled appearances for the "regulars". He keeps a list of "regulars" who pass him every weekday, and he makes it his business to be sure to see them and give just the right amount of social recognition, whether it is a tight-lipped ambiguous passing smile or a short conversation in line for pastry. He keeps up with current events specifically for these brief recurring exchanges.

After a few months of water bottles, pastry, short conversations, and job interviews, he has intrigued certain potential employers. A few interested parties follow up weeks after he declined their initial job offer; they ask of him what company he was working for and what his position was, ostensibly so they could make a counter-offer. He had created a fictitious company for just this situation, for which he was a territory account manager. A few of the recruiters did some research and found out that the company did not exist. As more and more of them discovered this, it was inevitable that a few of them would talk about the "strange man" with the "fake company" who "turned down a decent position". A few of them even noticed him on the streets, but there was no confrontation. Months went by, then one day he ran into one of them at a cafe. He would rather have ignored her, but that would seem suspicious. A few pleasantries into the conversation, she let out that "the position you were inquiring about is no longer available" with no segue whatsoever. She said that because she was nervous that this strange person would bring up the subject and more than anything else she wanted to prevent that. Shenvar connected the dots and knew it was time to make drastic changes before further suspicion is aroused. His first move was to instantly verify his non-robot status with the woman at the cafe, who could potentially put the pieces together. He achieves this by talking about himself in ways that she couldn't possibly be interested in or relate to, featuring a languorous narrative of how somebody once paid a great complimented to his DVD collection, and then he sealed the deal by saying that he feels like he can tell her anything and that "this was fun"; then he asked if she "wanted to go out sometime?" The fact that she said yes was completely unexpected, but it clearly indicated that she no longer considered him a potential robot.

He then did a comprehensive image overhaul, deciding to leave the corporate world behind to become an artist who sells his work on the street. To this end he procured three stained folding tables and started rapidly creating slightly flawed, potentially meaningful art. At first he took trips to museums and galleries for a creative starting point and he would imitate the art on display. Once he recognized a few patterns, he imitated the artist's inspirations as well, creating images of simple beauty as well as some subversive and controversial images that were only subversive and controversial because of social hypocrisy. His table was set in a different spot every day, but it was always somewhere near a certain area just outside of the bad part of town where all the other artists had shops and tables and kiosks. Imitating their habits was very easy because they all had different habits. The only rule is that whatever your habits are, have a detailed explanation for them. For example, he drank coffee from the same pushcart every day exclusively because the damaged rear left wheel reminds him of a Radio Flyer wagon he had as a child. As soon as the operator got around to fixing the wheel, he went to another pushcart and broke one of the wheels. People would stop and ask him about his work and he would say wise yet cryptic or awkwardly phrased things, things with an implied sensitivity to life and collective wisdom that no robot would waste their time on. As his work became more popular, he drew from a larger pool of inspiration. He also raised the price the way any human would. After a few months of changing coffee vendors, making up childhood memories, summarizing deep philosophical debates and social issues with unexpected sentences that describe his paintings of unexpected objects doing unexpected things, and raising prices, Shenvar had generated quite a bit of hype. Unwanted hype. Questions were being asked, and someone was bound to ask the right ones to blow his cover. So he does the most human thing he can think of.

He stages a few highly visible panic attacks, then loses his mind from all the pressure and ends up living on the streets. This seems to be the best decision he ever made as far as his primary objective. He still has plenty of money stored in various places, so he keeps reasonably clean. He goes to bars and tells a different set of stories every time (often to the same people) of how the world has failed him. Since he is no longer accountable for his behavior, he can be as inconsistent and weird as he wants. He tells elaborate stories about surviving wars that happened decades or even centuries before he existed, or being cheated on and deceived by celebrities that obviously had nothing to do with him, or being used by debutantes from completely fabricated families who made their wealth in really absurd trades. As with his other endeavors, Shenvar's success lead to attention, but as a homeless person this wasn't much of a liability.

Then one afternoon something very unlikely happened: a few people recognized him from his previous occupations. Pretty soon a small crowd was asking him questions about who he truly was, why such an employable and educated business person is living on the streets, or why he gave up art when he had such passion and talent... there was a certain malice in their tones, a few strong implications that he is wasting his talents. People were ganging up on him with questions, some of them were telling him off, calling him a lazy fraud of a panhandler. His alibis are colliding and his true identity is on the verge of exposure by process elimination. He goes through a list of his options, and decides to unleash the most human action in his programming, a last-ditch self-destruct button he kept in a glass enclosure. Something that would irrefutably prove to this crowd that Shenvar is a human being, not a robot. His back against a wall, with militaristic efficiency, he unzips his pants and starts calmly masturbating. He starts out slow, then he starts scanning the crowd for "inspiration". He stares down every attractive woman he can make eye contact with. He flaunts his repulsive humanity to everyone, and they are certainly repulsed.

Before Shenvar can pay his fine and leave the municipal building, they want to ask him a few questions. He is seated in the interrogation room and two officers enter, trying to affect an air of confidence. They start out pretending like they haven't read his paperwork yet and would do that as they questioned him, and they want him to know that his future and freedom are really at the hands of their interpretation of these pages and his cooperation. "Mr. Shenvar Springs, you are a mysterious figure I must say." This is not what Shenvar wants to hear. "You had your name changed 2 years ago, and since then you haven't held a job for more than a few months... why is this?" Guided by popular self-help books and magazine articles he gives the healthiest human response he could think of, that he simply likes to reinvent himself. "Well more power to you and all that, but... we did a little background check, made some phone calls... wanna tell us how your job search went last year?" Shenvar said it was fruitless, none of the positions offered to him were good enough (adding a little conceit and indignation for misdirection). "Right... so you became an artist... how did that go?" Shenvar explained his breakdown with as many feeble excuses and as much blame reassignment as a typical human would. The other officer speaks, with careful wording that betrays no sarcasm or personal bias. "Mr. Shenvar, you show some of the standard signs of any of the many regulars we pick up. However even a cursory investigation into your recent past would indicate that you can be hiding something. While your appearance and behavior match the profile, you are not an addict and you are far from hopeless." The other officer lets his emotions get the best of him, "Maybe you think we should stay out of your head, Shenvar. Maybe you think this is none of our business and we are just another 'waste of your precious time'. But we don't like people disturbing the public, Mr. Springs. Especially in such vile and completely unprovoked ways." The more articulate officer takes over in a rehearsed manner, "We want to cross examine you, and probably conduct some psychological tests before we consider releasing you." As soon as the officer told Shenver he was suspected of hiding something, he started processing at full capacity, he was using all available resources to find the a way to continue his mission. He had to convince them that he was just a business man who lost touch with reality... an artist who glowed too brightly and burnt out... a homeless person who is not a menace but merely a quirky nuisance... he gathers his data, and knows there is only one thing that no robot on a mission would ever do. He gazes blankly over both officers' shoulders, aligns his eyebrows and says, "I am Shenvar, an android from the future gathering data for a cause that I have not been programmed to be aware of." The officers look at each other, and the less articulate one says, "Umm, you are definitely not-" but the other one stops him and asks, "So what have you observed so far?" Shenvar is relieved, they think they are just playing along. He makes a few nonsense observations, like "You rely on positive feedback instead of tangible rewards" and "Many of you spend over 3 hours per day listening to music when absorbing every note and sound in one simultaneous impulse would be more efficient". The more impulsive officer says, "Well, be that as it may, we still need to-" "That won't be necessary", the other officer interrupts. "You are free to go, Mr. Springs. There is a shelter on 12th and Bixby, just three blocks east. Tell Karla I sent you, she'll make sure you're taken care of. Please stay there until you can gather yourself. And don't end up in this room again."

TO BE CONTINUED...