Monday, January 26, 2009

Learning to Think Before You Speak

Roger’s Wife, Nancy: Oh. Honey, looks like you’ve lost a button on your shirt. You should let me sew that back on for you.

Roger (in his head): Since when does Nancy know how to sew? She doesn’t know how to sew. She’s never known how to sew. Why would she be offering to sew a button back on my shirt? We’ve been married for twenty-five years. She’s never even picked up a needle. I don’t even think we own a needle, much less thread, for crying out loud. And a thimble? Forget about it! Does she even know what a thimble looks like? I seriously doubt it.

What is going on here? Why this sudden offer to pick up a needle and thread and do this for me? What’s her angle? What could she possibly be thinking, standing at the kitchen counter and seemingly innocuously putting together a batch of Chex Mix? She must have something up her sleeve.

Unless.

She’s not really Nancy. I mean, sure, she looks like Nancy and everything, but maybe it’s not really her. That first batch of Chex Mix she made tonight and then threw out? Did that taste like Nancy’s Special Chex Mix? No, it most certainly did not taste like Nancy’s Special Chex Mix. She said it was because she forgot to put in the worcestershire sauce, but how can that be? She’s been making her Special Chex Mix with that recipe for the last thirty years! Forgot the worcestershire sauce? Come on! Does she think I’m a fool? What’s really happening here?

I’ve got it.

She’s a cyborg. She’s been replaced. Yes. Yes! Look at her eyes. Not quite the same shade of blue as Nancy’s. Those idiots! They think they can fool me? Ridiculous. Though, I must admit, they did do a decent job. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was Nancy herself standing there dumping Wheat Chex into our oversized mixing bowl. They even made the hair fall down into her eyes the same way as Nancy’s. But obviously they didn’t do their homework properly. Idiots. If they’d even done even one ounce of research they’d have known about Nancy’s sewing deficiency. I bet this poor automaton doesn’t even know the first thing about Chex Mix and is panicking right now, believing it’s been caught. Yes, look at it, staring at me uncomprehending. It knows I’m clued into its clever rouse. I almost feel sorry for it, poor pathetic machine.

More important than the feelings this crude similitude of a human, though. What is this hunk of robotic junk doing in my house? Why would they replace Nancy with a cyborg? And, even more importantly, where the hell is Nancy? Those bastards! My poor Nancy! Well, if they think I’ll talk to this collection of faulty logic circuits, they obviously haven’t done any fieldwork on me. But what happens when I don’t talk? What will this bucket of bolts and blood do to me then? What if I can’t keep up the facade that I believe that it is the real Nancy? It’s probably been programmed to eliminate me. And there’s no way I outrun that thing. Not with my hip. Which is probably what happened to Nancy. She probably wouldn’t talk, either; and just like that, they extinguished her. Well, that won’t be my fate. No way. After she’s “asleep,” tonight, I’m out of here. I can play along until we go to bed, I’m sure. Just have to concentrate. But then I’m gone! Outta here, baby! And I’ll torch the place as I leave, too. Just for good measure. Bastards and their blasted robots. They won’t have what’s in my head. No way.

But still, that nagging question will linger, even after this house is a nothing but a smoldering pile of ruins, the stench of “Nancy’s” putrid burned plastic shell loiters and the real Nancy’s Special Chex Mix recipe is lost forever to the ages: What could they possibly have wanted to learn from me?!

Hm.

Learn.

Huh.

Wait, didn’t Nancy say something last week about starting to take a class at the community college? Yeah, she did.

And didn’t she say that class was a beginning sewing class?

Oh.

Roger: Oh, well would you look at that! I have lost a button, haven’t I? Sure, you can fix it for me, that’d be great! Have you started on the advanced button repair part of your class yet? Ha ha!

Jon scribbled this mess on 01/26/09 at 03:46 PM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Stuff that's not true (fiction) Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

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