Sunday, 4/14/2216, Part 2

I am truly awed at the popularity I am now experiencing. Was it God? Maybe ChingWei was right, I should thank God. I say a silent “thank you God” to myself before looking up at the beautiful woman across the table from me.

“Um, do you… could you maybe… Will you get a drink with me?” I had asked her when she showed up to deliver the shock. I am honestly amazed at my own courage.

She must have been too. She just looked at me for a long time, eyebrow cocked. Then she licked her teeth, gave a tiny shrug and said “Yeah, sure, there’s a place I like to go.”

I struggled to make conversation as we walked side by side on the sidewalk like real acquaintances. I tried asking her about herself (the internet said that was a good way to make friends) but she didn’t want to talk. When I asked where she was from originally she responded with an irritated side glance and said nothing.

“I’m from New York. Y-yeah, born and r-raised. We were in the Bronx, up in Riverdale but I’ve lived in the city for years and years now.” I tried to recover. “B-but, even then I feel like I haven’t experienced it for real. Last night I went out to a bar with some friends, it was so crazy.” Pluralizing ‘friend’ meant it wasn’t exactly a lie.

She smiled and said “Oh, what happened?” Clearly indicating this was preferable to me asking about her.

“Well, I’ve never been in a place like that before.” I talked excitedly, relieved that she no longer looked annoyed. “A human stood at the bar, and you told them what you wanted and they made the drinks, they didn’t even have a network to connect to! It’s called the Battleground and they don’t do PCD so you could even go in there if you want!”

She nodded and said nothing. Yikes. I don’t even know if I want her going there, just remembering Grygor’s expression when I brought it up, but I definitely don’t want her to check out of this conversation.

I continued the one sided slog of conversation the next few blocks. Thankfully, the place she was leading me to was close to my apartment.

It was called the TV Party. There was no PCD, but I noticed they didn’t emphasize that there wasn’t as we walked in. Every inch of wall space was covered with televisions. Only a few of these ancient artifacts had sound and their visual output seemed to be broken up into four options for the four corners of the room. There were old movies on in two of the corners and a sporting event on in another. The screens by us were playing news.

“Wow,” I said, awestruck, “What a wild place. I’m surprised they still broadcast signals for these.”

“I’m glad that they do.” She said.

“Of course, that makes sense, sorry.”

There were two other people in the bar, both in the sports corner. That seemed strange. It was 2pm on a Sunday at a non-PCD bar. K walked right in after all. I would think a few more unemployed people would be in here at least. One of the two other patrons had nodded to Kathy when she walked in. She nodded back, like a true regular.

She sat down at the table in the news corner, facing the door, and I followed suit, facing her. It was loud in here. Each television was emitting its own audio. Select main menu, select body, select senses, select hearing, select aim, set focus on Human. That was better. Now all I had to do was get her to talk.

I joined the network and opened the menu. TV Party menu, select beverages, select drafts, select Dub Light. ‘You will be charged 7 credits’, select accept.

“Uh do you want anything, should I order for you?”

“No, they got me.”

“Who?”

The patron she had nodded at walked over to the bar and walked back over to us with a glass of beer and a cup of coffee in his hand. He was an elderly man with a jagged scar on his neck and a face tattoo of a wagon wheel on his forehead. He grunted, setting down our drinks in front of us.

“Ohhhh, a human does it!” I said, feeling dumb. “That makes sense, you couldn’t be a regular here if they didn’t have one.”

She just nodded, picking up her coffee and blowing on it.

“I guess that makes my story about The Battleground Bar last night less cool.”

“It’s fine.” She said. Then nothing.

“Y-you know,” I start, just trying to fill in the silence “that bar I went to yesterday seemed to be doing well just leaning into the analog gimmick. It was really cool, and the bartender, that’s what the human drink makers are called, was named Olive and you could ask them about drinks and things and I thought it was really helpful, I mean, I normally would’ve just Plexed beer reviews, but it was nice having a person there.”

“Sounds like a fun place.” She said. She was not exactly saving me from babbling alone, but I kept trying.

“It was way better than this other spot where I went on Friday. It was called The Office, which is a good name, but they had a Productive Citizens Decree and a bunch of unemployed kids outside. I was thinking that if they just didn’t enforce the PCD they would have way more customers, not those kids, probably, they looked way too young, but other people for sure. It was just me and the guy I came with in there on a Friday night. Since you’re really paying for the experience because you can just NAC it, well, sorry, maybe you don’t know, you can simulate being as drunk as you want from your NAC so buying alcohol is just kind of an extra ritual at this point.” I take a deep breath, realizing that I've been nervously talking up a boring storm. “Anyway, it just seems like bad business to keep the unemployed out.” I finish finally.

Ugh, maybe this was a bad idea. I gulp down some disgusting light beer. It’s way too early for alcohol.

She sips her coffee, elegantly, refined, looking off at the screen behind me. Then, without looking away, she says “It would be bad business, if the bar was the business.”

“Yeah!” I say enthusiastically without thinking, just glad she responded. Then my thoughts catch up. “Wait, I’m sorry, what?”

She smiles at that and turns her eyes to me. “Population control is the business of the corporation that owns the bar, and population control has always been about division.”

“Ummm, so, is it aspirational for the unemployed?” I ask, confused, but trying to sound smart.

“Not exactly.” She says, returning her gaze to the screen. Then, quietly, almost to herself, “United we bargain, divided we beg.”

“What?”

“If people see institutions oppressing them they’ll resist them. If people see people as the cause of their oppression they’ll fight amongst each other. The first option is, so far, unsustainable in human history, the second can go on indefinitely.”

“Okaaay…”

“The problem is it’s actually difficult to divide people with a shared interest in reforming society. That’s why society has to be carefully built to separate them, with employers, with culture, with money, with religion, with drugs. It’s all about control.”

“Uhhh huh.” I hum, not fully understanding. “I think you would get along with—”

She held a finger to her lips and pointed at the screen behind me.

“Peep.” She said.

I looked at the screen to our left which was broadcasting the same content, a reporter’s vision from outside Central Congress in Tokyo. It showed a senator yelling excitedly while projecting a document from a finger camera. Select main menu, select body, select senses, select hearing, select aim, select cancel focus.

“The last war was one volley, this time we’ll f— em up for good. Pardon my language.”

I turned to look at the other people in the bar, their attention now turned to the screens in our corner. The old grizzled bartender made eye contact with me, closed his eyes, and turned to walk away, shaking his head sadly.