Thank you, Britta Benson, for inspiring this story. You surely have this Terveen as your personal cheerleader. Please visit Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland and Odds & Ends to read Britta’s lovely writing! This one’s for you, Britta!
Cheerleaders are the newest rage.
I know you’re thinking short skirts, tank tops, and sparkly pom-poms.
No, not those cheerleaders. These cheerleaders are the latest offering from the field of robotics.
Your own personalized cheerleader to lift you up from the dumps, set you on your true path, and save you from ruining the remaining days of your life.
A mechanical savior that eliminates self-loathing, procrastination, and detrimental habits.
Once ordered, it takes nearly four weeks to be delivered.
Each robot is fashioned with a face identical to that of its owner. And it responds to the same name. It’s pre-programmed with details of the owner’s vices and faulty areas that need improvement.
I was expecting a bespectacled, moustached, half-bald male, white robot named Monroe.
However, I received a black-haired, brown-eyed, dimpled-cheek, female, brown robot named Terveen.
I wasn’t home when they dropped her off, and returned to find her standing on the front lawn wearing a long white t-shirt covering more than half her metal frame. The wheels attached to her base were blue and the words on her t-shirt screamed – YOU CAN DO IT, TERVEEN!
She asked me where Terveen was. I asked her where Monroe was.
We then stared at each other for a good two minutes. She lacked expression. I resembled a frightened kitten. Then I called the company and told them about our problem.
They put me on hold and fifteen minutes later offered an apology and the correct robot. But it would take seven days. Till then, I would have to keep Terveen. But the robot didn’t agree and insisted on being taken to its rightful owner.
My call was then transferred to the engineering department. I was told to press a red button behind Terveen’s right ear for three seconds. It would erase the owner’s details without corrupting any other data.
Before my hand could clear half the distance, a powerful, metal grip grasped me by the neck and lifted me off my feet. It then threw me ten yards away. I landed on hard ground.
I’m in the hospital with a dislocated shoulder, a sprained arm and three fractured ribs. It hurts with every breath. The company refunded my money, sent me flowers, and a ‘GET WELL SOON, MONROE’ t-shirt.
Robot Monroe should be here tomorrow. I hope my cheerleader helps me wipe out this painful memory.
But I seriously doubt it.
Submit your writing.
Hungry to read?
Looking for variety?
MASTICADORESINDIA has what you need!
Click the image to know more.