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famouslastwordsinmexico · 4 years

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Suggested for You

You think to yourself, I shouldn’t have looked that up online.

You’re now staring at a bunch of banner ads that frame your email inbox. Each one is attempting to entice you to purchase succulents from flower shops near and far, small and conglomerated. The bright, animated images boast to you about how their store’s succulents will set you on the path to self-care while reconnecting you with nature. You know these ads are suggested to you and tailored specifically for you based on your search history, but, really, you just wanted to know how to spell “succulent”.

To be fair, you probably shouldn’t be looking up non-work related curiosities while actually at work, but it’s been a slow morning. And yet, right as you excuse yourself for the trivial indiscretion, you’re called into your manager’s office. You lock your computer and worriedly head over to where they wait for you. Upon entering the room you see that there is someone else here for this impromptu meeting. Or, rather, someone has video-called in, their face on your manager’s monitor, which has been turned to meet yours.

“A representative from HR will be joining us remotely,” your manager informs you. They then sit on the front edge of their desk, not behind it, in a manner you suspect all managers unironically believe comes off as cool and relaxed.

“Huh. Is something wrong?” You cautiously take your seat, looking between them and the digital HR rep.

“Oh, no, not at all. It’s just a small request.” They fold their hands in front of them. “That presentation you’re working on for Friday; I wanted to ask if you would give it over to Robert.”

“Robert? Why? I thought it was supposed to be my project.” You worked hard on that presentation, and even harder on that project. It was something that was going to get you noticed by the higher-ups, a first step towards bigger things.

“It is. Or, it was. It…” They stop themselves, physically appear to reset, and adopt a concerned face. “We’re simply worried it might be putting too much stress on you.” They lean in. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright with you?”

“Uh… I’m doing fine?” You’re progressively less certain about what’s happening.

“You sure? You can be honest with us.” They lean back. “We’ve heard you’ve been depressed.”

The shock of this gives you mental whiplash.

“‘Depressed’?” you echo. “Why would you think that?”

“Well,” they begin, affecting the concerned yet distant tone in which only senior managers are capable of speaking, “it’s come to our attention that you’ve been sharing some pretty troubling sentiments.”

“I only really talk about work-related stuff with people, honestly.”

“No, I’m referring to the stuff you share online.”

Dumbfounded, you blink.

“You see,” your manager explains, “we recently employed a service that keeps us up to date with our employees.” They seem mildly pleased with themself over their technological ability. They speak to you but look at the HR rep on screen. “Of course, it’s only because we care for the well-being of everyone here in the office. And their software told us that you’ve been feeling quite down lately. They even highlighted some examples; is it not true that you recently posted about how nothing really matters?”

You don’t recall using those words for anything. As you confusedly shrug, they pull out their phone and hand you it, showing the post in question.

“Wait, what?” you ask. “Those are song lyrics. To a very popular song! I shared them for a ‘Throwback Thursday’.”

“Hmm, no,” they say, taking their phone back. “I’m still seeing a cry for help. Like, what about this one: ‘All I want is to sleep and pizza and do nothing and sleep’? That sounds pretty depressed.”

“That was one of those online things where people let auto-complete write a post for them.”

“Sure, then how do you explain this post, where you describe how you wish the food truck across the street would ‘run you over’ if you ‘tipped extra’ for your burrito before you got back in from lunch?”

“That’s a really old post I made when I was at my old job. The one I left for this job! I made that joke to vent. Other people liked it.” Specifically two people: a friend, and the food truck’s company (which you presume auto-likes any mention of their brand).

Your manager sighs as they shake their head.

“Come on, now, you don’t have to hide. You can be honest.” They lean in again. “This is sophisticated software; it wouldn’t lie. Its algorithm combed through your life and crunched the numbers. You are depressed. And, if you’re feeling depressed, we want to make sure the company isn’t placing any undue stress on you. Wouldn’t want you turning around and saying we’re unfair, or that we torment you with public speaking, huh?” No one laughs at their non-joke. The HR rep briefly writes something on their notepad. “Right. Well, when we ask you to hand the presentation off to Robert, it’s not just because we want it to turn out well, it’s because we want you to be well, too.”

“You’re punishing me because of memes?” you ask, unsure of how much incredulity you can show without further risking your job.

“Oh, no, of course not,” they reply, “we would never!” At this point your manager doesn’t even try to hide that they’re assuring the HR rep more than they’re talking to you. “This company does not punish depression. In fact,” they add, turning back to you, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We’ll mark it down as a sick day, a day for ‘personal care’, even.” They nod to themself, satisfied. “I’ll mark it down in your time sheet right now.”

They pull out their phone and begin typing, finished with this meeting. You want to tell them not to do that, since you only have a limited number of sick days, but feel there’d be no use arguing. You stand up, at a loss for words. As you slowly turn to leave you find the HR rep is pointing towards the printer in the room. It prints off something you deduce they sent remotely. It appears to be a pamphlet. The person in the monitor motions for you to pick it up, their face set in the textbook definition of a polite smile. The pamphlet is titled Dealing with Depression.

Your smartwatch pings as you grab the pamphlet and the screen displays an ad for succulents. You turn the watch off.

You don’t feel like going home right away. You instead head to a nearby cafe and order the kind of sugary latte you know isn’t worth the high price and higher calorie count, but you could use the comfort. There are no real baristas here, only machines that charge you extra to print a picture of yourself onto the latte foam. You pay the extra amount. You then sign on to the free wifi, checking off the terms and conditions you didn’t read, and take a picture of your cup to share online. Not five minutes of browsing later you get a call from your mom. You plug in your headset and answer.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“Yeah, how do you mean?” You wonder why everyone’s asking you that today.

“Because you’re not at work!” You realize now that the picture you just posted is location-tagged. “And I know what kind of drinks you like when you’re feeling sad; I’m your mother, after all.” You should’ve never accepted her friend request.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… I’m alright. Working from home today, but I figured I’d grab a coffee. That’s all, I promise.”

You don’t think she believes you but her silence tells you she won’t push if you don’t want to tell her the truth. You instead get a notification on your phone that your mom has sent you a “poke”, a feature that only moms still remember exists. She breaks the silence first.

“Well, okay then,” she offers, “if you say so. Anyways, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.” Her tone gets conspiratorial for her next question. “Are you and Jamie dating?”

“What?!” You nearly choke on your latte. “No! Why do you think that?”

“Your aunts told me,” she answers plainly. “And, apparently, some of their friends told them first. They’re still not used to, you know, those kinds of relationships.” As progressive as your mom can be, her age and upbringing still show from time to time.

“I don’t even know my aunts’ friends, why would they think I’m dating Jamie?”

“They saw your picture online.”

You rub your eye, annoyed.

“What picture, mom?”

“Well,” she starts, and if phones still had cords you could imagine your mom twirling hers now, wrapping her finger as she shares the gossip, “you see, one of your aunts’ friends was online and saw you as a suggested friend.” You never understood what algorithms determined those suggestions. “She was curious, so she went in and browsed your page. There it was, a photo of the two of you, looking pretty close and cozy.”

You check your account on your phone. There’s no way someone randomly looking you up online could’ve seen that photo. Although, how many times did the site tell you they were updating their privacy policy and you opted to skip the details of what that meant?

“Mom, didn’t you see that picture yourself before? That was just Jamie and me playing around. You know we’re just friends.”

“Yes, I thought it was nothing. But, those friends of your aunts talk a lot, and they do seem very convinced. I looked at the picture again and it got me thinking.” Her tone gets conspiratorial again. “Are you dating Jamie? I’d have nothing against it. Your father, though…” You block the headset mic to hide your exasperated sigh, and then interrupt before she can finish the thought.

“We’re not close, mom, not like that. My aunts and their friends are making up stories.” You wonder how scrutinized any future pictures you post will be. Maybe you should restrict how much of your profile your mom can access. You’ll have to figure out the new privacy settings first.

“Yes, fine, you’re right. I’m simply saying they sounded convinced, is all.” You can almost picture her busying herself with some chores at home to prove that she’s over it. And yet she adds, “I will say, though, that if you were with Jamie, I’d be very supportive. Jamie’s lovely, and would be lucky to have you.”

You hide another exasperated sigh and change the topic. When she’s had her fill of catching up, your mom says goodbye and you hang up.

You sit in the cafe, your mouth contorted in contemplation save for when you sip from your cup. You thought you were good at keeping your personal and online lives separate, but thanks to dubious algorithms and out-of-touch inquirers, your agency at work has been diminished and your sexuality is being questioned by people who’d be less than understanding. Even if you restrict who gets access to your information, what little slips through the cracks is still interpreted without context. Is that what the internet is now? For people to be data-mined so other people can make assumptions? Who wanted it that way?

Your phone sets off with another notification, informing you that a local indoor plant store has followed you online. They specialize in succulents.

You almost laugh out loud at the insanity of it. Of course; this hunt for data is mostly the hunt for ad revenue. While it’s a marvel how fervently someone on the other side of the screen wants to believe they understand you, advertisers are the ones who set the system up. And even they can’t seem to get it right!

The fever of frustration breaks, giving way to a fever of defiance. Why leave room to be misinterpreted? You decide to live your online life unabashedly and unafraid to share all. Will someone be tracking your moves? You don’t care, but if they are you hope they can keep up.

You grab your phone and browse with fury and determination. You share news articles and let your political leanings lay bare as you never had before. You hit “publish” on every dumb joke and inane thought you had previously hid shamefully as drafts. You post all of the pictures in your phone, and when you’re done with those you take a couple more. You follow musicians, actors, and influencers alike, so that no one would have to guess what your tastes are. You join in as many forum conversations as you can, and only stop when a person you’re arguing with, who has an anime-girl profile picture, threatens to dox you. You log off.

When you finally get home you’re bleary eyed from unblinking browsing and shaky from the excess of caffeine. You want nothing more than to decompress. As you turn on your TV to search for something to stream and zone out to, you call out to your virtual assistant device and say, “Play something soothing.”

Though your command was vague, as the speakers turn on they start playing exactly what you only now realize you had in mind. You love this band, even if you hadn’t thought of them in a while. Your phone goes off with a notification that this band has a concert coming up soon. As if on instinct triggered by serendipity, you click the notification to buy tickets.

While browsing various streaming services on your TV you come across several documentaries that you’ve heard confirm a lot of opinions you’ve had on the state of things. While you’d love to be proven correct, you’re more in the mood for something light. You wonder if they have this one funny movie that’s a reboot of a movie that’s based on a book. Before you can remember the title you see it listed. You hit play.

Ultimately, modern movie watching entails being on your phone, so you scroll through whatever new content was uploaded on your commute home. While you idly browse, you find another tailored ad, this time for a t-shirt boldly claiming that people born the same month as you are kind yet shouldn’t be messed with, each line in a different garish font.

“Ha,” you laugh to yourself, “what a stupid ad.” Even after all the data you gave them, advertisers are no better than your manager or your aunts, thinking they know you and what’s best for you.

Suddenly the page you’re on refreshes. What loads first is the ad, this time for a different shirt that’s admittedly more your style. The tagline reads, “Your life, your look.” Unsettled by the coincidence and feeling like you’ve found yourself in a conversation with your phone you didn’t know you were having, you try to click on a different link. More content loads just at that moment, though, shifting the layout of the page and leading you to click on the ad instead. Surprised, you fumble with your phone to close what’s popped up, but as your panicked fingers slip your phone decides you mean to go through with the order. You adjust your hold on your phone but somehow manage to set off a biometric scan that confirms the purchase.

As if queued by your consumerist momentum, an ad interrupts the movie you’re watching (since when did this streaming service have ads?). The volume seems to increase on its own as the TV blares at you.

“You don’t necessarily feel you age, so why look your age? Our skin cream can miraculously take 5 years off your face, letting your inner youth shine through.” The ad shows a model before and after using the cream. It makes a specific point of telling you the model’s age, which is your age.

You search frantically for the remote to turn the volume down. No matter what angle you point the remote at it, the TV refuses to recognize your button pushing. You get up and simply turn off the TV manually. This gives your virtual assistant device space to chime in with a separate ad.

“Tired of the long commute to your workplace? Find more free time while moving into one of the fastest growing neighbourhoods that’s perfect for you.” The voice emanating from your speakers describes listings in a building that you recognize is half a block away from your office. You run to unplug the device.

One by one more “smart” appliances in your home, devices that you now question their need for internet connectivity, begin to play or display ads that were made to appeal to you exactly.

“Our energy efficient windows fit your green lifestyle!” your thermostat boasts, citing a climate change article you just read.

“Let us deliver the groceries you need for the recipes you love!” your fridge demands, listing off your actual favourite recipes.

“Bzzt!” vibrates your electric toothbrush, calling you to look at its charger’s digital screen and see an ad for a dental clinic, featuring a close up of a mouth you’re weirdly certain is actually yours.

As your apartment comes alive with the sounds of aggressive advertising, you’re terrified. You step out onto the balcony. You think to yourself, and only to yourself, that you need to get away.

A delivery drone floats up from under your balcony and stops right at your eye level. It’s been outfitted with a display monitor. It plays a video.

“Looking for a vacation?” it asks. “Why not fly out to Pasadena, California? You can visit the Cactus & Succulent Society of America’s annual show and sale!”

#creative writing #prose #short story #technology #social media

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rainey-staerie-daize · 3 years

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02.12.21

Today was a bitch.

I finally snapped on Bry about keeping the family laptop in his room.

Mom said it and its charger are supposed to stay out here in the common areas, but every time he gets a hold of it, I don’t see it ‘til Sunday when he leaves for his dad’s house. Also, during a conversation with him earlier, Mom yelled from the living room about him going back to class, and we just looked at each other as he yelled back that he was. He was actually a few minutes late because he was playing Roblox, but he wasn’t about to tell Mom that. And I didn’t either, because I didn’t wanna start a fight, but I almost wish I did.

Xan wanted to charge his school laptop, but the only charger out here was for the family one, so I yelled for Bry, who’d taken his by mistake. And when he came out here to swap out the two, I yanked the family one out of his hands and put it on top of the printer next to me.

“So you want the family Chromebook to die?” (Mom’s spread the idea around here that the more something dies, the shorter its battery life gets. No idea if it’s true or not. Things might just wear out as they get older.)

I didn’t know what to say, and he stormed off.

I had enough, and after a second, stormed after him.

I yelled at him for being defiant as all Hell, and at some point I asked him if he was in school, or playing “with [his] stupid Roblox friends.” He said it was Roblox, and that the mic was on. Oops. He tried to shut the door on me, but I wedged myself in there, and shoved the door open. He got off the door, and I flew across the room and almost landed on the pile of toys (good thing I didn’t, because if I’d gotten seriously hurt, I usually don’t have the nerve to ask for medical attention).

Ended up wrestling him for the laptop (because nobody in this house seems to understand anything unless there’s physical force for some reason), which got pulled kinda hard, and he tried to kick me at some point, but I used my body weight against him and won. It was a struggle, because he’s apparently as strong as I am. Don’t know how, but he is.

Brought the laptop to the living room and set it next to the charger, and limply picked up one of Xan’s writing books, ready to continue reorganizing the desk, and I just fucking threw it and screamed because nobody ever listens to me. Not at the top of my lungs, and not for more than a second or two, but it briefly woke up Mom. And as she’s yelling to know what’s going on, I don’t respond as I open the door and leave.

Walking around the neighborhood was okay, I guess. Left the neighborhood onto the busy street we live near. Walked down a way that was kinda picturesque, with tall-ass trees. Saw a zip-lock baggie on the ground with two burritos in it, and came across a wash and an empty-feeling intersection.

Was kinda hot and disoriented after a while because I had left my mask at home and was breathing into my shirt for appearance’s sake (because I know damn well I don’t have COVID). Eventually, I decided to head back, wondering if anyone even came looking for me or if Mom had fallen asleep.

Got home, and was home for a few minutes (or half an hour? hard to tell) before Skye came through the door. Apparently, she was looking for me because “I can’t sleep apparently!” I guess my scream woke her up. She said she couldn’t find me, I told her I left the neighborhood, and she said she kinda figured I would and looked both directions. She couldn’t find me because I walked quite a ways down only the one by the Arco, which she told me was where she thought I was. Great minds think alike, I guess. She grabbed one of the last two ice cream cones in the freezer and went to our room, and I planned to take the other when I went out again.

Bry had taken the laptop and the charger off of the printer and was in his room playing on it again. No lessons learned here, it seems.

Used the bathroom, grabbed my flannel, hat, and compression socks because I like being a vampire, and left again at 4:20. Haha, LOL, blaze it.

Went a different way this time. Came across several neat things that I would’ve liked a pic of, but I didn’t bring my phone with me. I got used to the speed of the Chromebook, so now my phone just infuriates me. Saw an owl on a second-floor windowsill with eyes that seemed to follow me, and I toyed with the idea that the eyes were security cameras and the head would follow me as I walked away, but I was wrong about the head turning. Saw more than one playground with caution tape, and people at the park regardless, a house that had multiple owl decorations, plenty of neat architecture, and a park I didn’t know was nearby. Not like a tiny one for the neighborhood, but a BIG one. Lots of space. Signs said it doubled as a drainage ditch.

I thought the stairs leading into it would make a nice pic, with the orange late afternoon glow, but like I said, no camera. Wandered around for a bit. Thought I saw a bike in the distance and wanted to check it out, so I shielded my eyes from the sun (’cause the hat doesn’t do shit near sunset), but it wasn’t there when I got there. Checked out a map of the wash trail and tried to remember the names of the streets I passed, but no dice. Listened to the ice cream truck that only turned on its music after it saw me walking, and heard it move between different areas of the surrounding neighborhood. Just stood and looked around for a while, and it was nice. No siblings, no Mom, no time constraints. Full autonomy.

After a while, I started feeling kinda chilly, and I had to pee, so I headed home. Didn’t stop and observe my surroundings nearly as much, but I noticed the sun going behind some clouds and the sky turning a subtle rainbow. The park felt much more melancholy without the orange glow, but sunset always comes eventually. All good things come to an end.

Got home at 5:30, and the house is nearly dark. Whenever everyone is distracted by phones and Mom’s asleep, everyone forgets to turn the lights on.

It was okay, I guess. Skye was asleep again, and Bry came out of his room eventually. I forget if it was explained to me when I came home the first time or the second time, but I had apparently somehow damaged the keys to the laptop. Half of them wouldn’t work. Cue very low-key panic, which would’ve been more had I not been just absolutely tired of everything. I use this thing for SCHOOL for crying out loud! Well, that and Tumblr, but seriously?!

I asked to take a look at it, but I never got it.

Had to deal with Xan peeing on himself in Mom and Kare’s room, which Mom blamed on me taking too long in the bathroom once she woke up. I never actually used the toilet in there yet, was just taking two minutes to wash my hands, and Xan never came to this bathroom, but I don’t think she would’ve cared if I’d told her.

After I checked on Kare in the other bathroom, I snagged yet another of my compression socks on that damn staple by the door. I swear, it’s evil.

Finally got to take a look at the laptop, and concluded that it was the crooked hinge causing the issue, and tried to bend it back into place. Didn’t work. After a couple tries I accidentally scraped it kinda bad with the very sharp tool, and Bry messed around with his Bluetooth keyboard for a sec, making me think it was more broken than I had initially thought, and I almost cried.

At some point, I discovered that Kare not only disobeyed me when I said get out of the bathroom when Xan’s bathing, but Xan also splashed most of the floor outside the tub. Once again feeling like nobody listens to me, I decided to just let my feelings fester and try being mute again. Slapped another x of electrical tape over my mouth for a bit while Bry scolded the littles. I think I made it a couple hours before Mom told me to take it off. And I did then, because I was finally in an okayish mood then, but that’s later.

It was around this time in the story that Mom was woken up, and I moved my laptop operation into the bathroom. If I could get this fixed, then she would never have to know about it, and I would avoid getting yelled at. I decided to Google the problem (which I had to use the on-screen keyboard for), and I tried an EC reset. It worked.

Handed it back to Bry, because he was civil about giving it to me to fix and he was in the middle of some anime, and he asked if he could hug me. I’m not very comfortable with hugs, or a lot of emotions actually, so I just kinda sat there, but I appreciate that he thanked me.

I watched shorts on the TV, Kare joined me, and I barely started Up before Xan fucked with me by using the other remote to turn the TV off. Ended up starting up a different movie, that he got to pick. Mom’s glasses arrived, I told her about the pee via whiteboard, and she eventually got me to take the tape off. She has no idea about the laptop, and probably not that I left the house for a while. I let Bry know that I want to use the laptop for school on Saturday, and he gave it to me shortly before dinner, to my surprise. Said something about not being able to play with his friends until Sunday, and he’ll be at his dad’s then.

All in all, a Hell of a day, but I got some serenity for a little bit.

#Raine's daize #I think this is the longest I've ever taken to type a post #someone should probably teach me how to put things under the cut #or I could just Google it #sometimes Skye and I forget that we have the world's largest information source at our fingertips: the internet

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