F
FishWolf
Guest
Original poster
I walked into the living room, surrounded with the familiar sounds of the house starting up and the computer chirping to let me know it sees me. I'm a 56 year old woman, in the year 2040, stuck in the house with a computer Stanley, my son forced on me because apparently I'm not upgraded enough. At first I was okay with the thing, because it didn't really do much unless I turned it on. I liked it then, because it wasn't annoying. All I had to do was turn it off. Then one day Stanley brought in a new computer, apparently the same one, just "upgraded." So he set it down on the kitchen table, and left to get some other supplies. I was just about to sneak out of the room when the computer turned on. By itself. Then in a demented-sounding voice, it said, Hello, Constance.
It made me jump, but I wasn't too suprised about it. We've had FIC movement sensors for a long time, ever since they started the Xbox Kinect. The first thing I did was to walk over there and find the off switch. But there wasn't one. So I was stuck with a computer that would try to have conversations with me every single time I moved, and wouldn't stop until I gave it the information I wanted. It's been about five days, and I already hate it. So I walk downstairs with the lights off, hoping that it won't see me.
Beep. Good Morning, Constance.
"Shut up." I growled at it. I pulled up a chair and started to go on my e-mail, when a little box appeared saying that the computer didn't see me go into the kitchen for breakfast. I try to tell it that I'll do it later, but it keeps on popping up every single time I go to a new window. So I grumble and go into the kitchen and come back with a bowl of cereal.
You will need a more nutritious meal, Constance.
"I don't care. Now let me check my email." So for some reason, it let me check the e-mail, but now I can't log in, because it keeps on saying I'm entering the wrong password. So I have to go through the long complicated process of redoing my password, and now that I have it freshly memorized, I enter it again. The same thing happens. I get mad and enter the password three times over before finally hitting the keys so hard that the computer think I'm trying to destroy it and it sets off a really loud alarm, who wake up my husband, Mike. He comes downstairs grumbling, and I tell him that the computer isn't letting me on my e-mail.
He asks for my password, and I give it to him, and he lightly taps it into the signin box. The computer beeps and the screen shows my e-mail account.
"I swear this computer is doing this on purpose." I grumble. Mike kisses me on the cheek and walks back upstairs. So I get done with my email, then I try to log out, but every single time I hit the button, it takes me back to my last e-mail in a new window. So then I growl with frustration, and the computer senses my stress and a little 3-D paperclip shows up.
Do you need help?
Mike comes back downstairs with a sigh, because he can hear the paperclip from upstairs. He presses the back button and click on logout, and what a suprise, it works.
I could've sworn that the paperclip was smirking.
It made me jump, but I wasn't too suprised about it. We've had FIC movement sensors for a long time, ever since they started the Xbox Kinect. The first thing I did was to walk over there and find the off switch. But there wasn't one. So I was stuck with a computer that would try to have conversations with me every single time I moved, and wouldn't stop until I gave it the information I wanted. It's been about five days, and I already hate it. So I walk downstairs with the lights off, hoping that it won't see me.
Beep. Good Morning, Constance.
"Shut up." I growled at it. I pulled up a chair and started to go on my e-mail, when a little box appeared saying that the computer didn't see me go into the kitchen for breakfast. I try to tell it that I'll do it later, but it keeps on popping up every single time I go to a new window. So I grumble and go into the kitchen and come back with a bowl of cereal.
You will need a more nutritious meal, Constance.
"I don't care. Now let me check my email." So for some reason, it let me check the e-mail, but now I can't log in, because it keeps on saying I'm entering the wrong password. So I have to go through the long complicated process of redoing my password, and now that I have it freshly memorized, I enter it again. The same thing happens. I get mad and enter the password three times over before finally hitting the keys so hard that the computer think I'm trying to destroy it and it sets off a really loud alarm, who wake up my husband, Mike. He comes downstairs grumbling, and I tell him that the computer isn't letting me on my e-mail.
He asks for my password, and I give it to him, and he lightly taps it into the signin box. The computer beeps and the screen shows my e-mail account.
"I swear this computer is doing this on purpose." I grumble. Mike kisses me on the cheek and walks back upstairs. So I get done with my email, then I try to log out, but every single time I hit the button, it takes me back to my last e-mail in a new window. So then I growl with frustration, and the computer senses my stress and a little 3-D paperclip shows up.
Do you need help?
Mike comes back downstairs with a sigh, because he can hear the paperclip from upstairs. He presses the back button and click on logout, and what a suprise, it works.
I could've sworn that the paperclip was smirking.