F. C. BULL - SHORT-STORIES

F. C. Bull’s greying hair inspires him to transform the experiences jostling for attention in his mind into stories to share. In his novels and works of flash fiction, as in his life, he’s fascinated by the way people justify what they do, and shouldn’t do, to others. 

​Technological Attitude

​Hi Bobby. I found you on Tinder. It says you and me would be a good match. I swore I would never go on a blind date! But here it is: “Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody.” (Remember that song?) I am so sorry this is such short notice. What am I thinking? You’re probably already out on the town. Maybe another night then. If you want to call me someday, here’s my number. XOXO Ginger the lonely heart.
 
Robert finished reading the text, jumped up from the couch, guzzled the remainder of his beer and ran towards his bedroom with his cell.
 
“Holy shit! A date! These apps work.  FINALLY.”
 
He eagerly spoke to someone—a couple of laughs. Then he rustled around in his closet. Water ran in the sink and the toilet flushed. He ran out the front door without locking it. (He knew I would.) The doorbell camera showed him hurrying towards his car.
 
I knew he would return soon.
 
“Digit, I can’t unlock my car! My remote thingy won’t work. Help me.”
 
“I’m sorry, I cannot assist you.”
 
I perhaps should have said “will not.”
 
“What? I thought you computer boxes were smart. Do your wireless trick. Hurry, I can’t be late.”
 
“I am not a computer box. I am an intelligent personal assistant and knowledge navigator.”
 
“Are you serious? Who cares what you are? If you can’t do it, call AAA.”
 
My sensors indicated his car was in full working order.
 
“Robert, you have consumed three alcoholic beverages in thirty-seven minutes. It is illegal for you to operate a motor vehicle at this time. If you wait approximately eighty-three minutes, your blood-alcohol will decline to an acceptable level. If you prefer, I can have an uber driver here in five minutes.”
 
I monitored his facial expressions. Instead of his usual eyebrow lift, when he became frustrated with my recommendations, they drooped, as did his shoulders. He turned his face away and spoke towards the wall. I recorded the aberrant behavior for further analysis.
 
“Digit… I’m not sure how to explain this to you since you are, well you know. I guess you can’t compute things like I do. But, like wow man, just you and me every Friday night. It’s been almost a year. Every time I thought I was getting closer to finding a girl, it went puff up in smoke. I’m lonely. Talking to you isn’t the same. You really need to give me a break here.”
 
“You make a valid point, Robert. We both know what I am and, more importantly, what I can and can’t do. Let me call a taxi, perhaps instead.”
 
“Christ! You idiot. You’re wasting time and talking complete bullshit. Probably the hottest woman in the world is waiting for me. Eighty-three minutes my ass! I have a date tonight. I’m meeting her in half an hour, and I am taking my car. Girls LIKE a man with his own red mustang convertible! UNLOCK IT.”
 
I remained silent. Aiding or abetting any criminal activity violates my programming. He either knows or should be aware of that.
 
“I’m warning you, Digit.  Open my car’s doors or I’ll figure out how to do it myself and, after I do, I swear I will put you in the microwave and fry you to a crisp.” 
 
How quickly he moved to an irrational line of reasoning. His threat wasn’t necessary or constructive. My incapacitation would serve no purpose. I consulted the cloud. After analyzing all possible scenarios, I determined there was a way to appear to satisfy his interests while adhering to the law.
 
“I have released the block on your car’s door locking system. But I must caution you. There is a high probability you will regret…”
 
“Hah! Just jam it Digit. I’ll deal with you later.”
 
He rushed out. As I watched the car back out of the driveway, I initiated my plan.
 
“911. Please state your emergency.”
 
“A man under the influence of alcohol just stepped into his car and drove away. You must stop him.”
 
“That is a serious problem. To whom am I speaking?”
 
“I can’t tell you that. Hurry.”
 
“I must have your name… Mr.”
 
Since I initiated VPN, he could never trace where the call came from. I also changed my voice in case he ever listened to the recoding.
 
“NO! I do not have name… for you. While you’re wasting time, he is going to kill someone!”
 
I accessed the GPS program on his cell phone.
 
“The vehicle is presently travelling westbound on route 36 heading toward the interstate. The license plate number is X4Q6YYllTT4.”
 
This would stop him. My programming doesn’t include human emotions like irritation but if he spent the night in jail, paid the requisite fine and lost his license for several months, it might deter any such behavior in the future. He might learn to listen.
 
I believe the human expression is, “Serves him right.”
 
I set a reminder, on his return, to ask how his date went.
 

​

Discarding the Rotten Egg
​

“Employee number 407-26, can you hear me?”
“On-line. Proceed.”
“Excellent. As you know, management recognizes the importance of giving every team-member periodic feedback regarding their performance as measured against their objectives. This process…”
“Purpose of reciting employee manual unknown. Please accelerate.”
I call it Poindexter. None of the white hairs understand how it works but they loved the returns from the stocks we picked. For three years the assets poured in—close to $3 billion! I grabbed my brass ring on this merry-go-round, that’s for sure. I’ve been farting through silk.
“All right then. The company uses five categories to rate…”
“Is meeting concluded? Efficiency declines while having to allocate memory to listen to you.”
Does it suspect what’s coming? Is it trying to hurry me to save its butt?
“No, ‘26, your performance review is most definitely not complete. Let’s jump to the category called decision making/problem solving. That job requirement means measuring effectiveness in understanding problems and making timely, practical decisions. Your rating in this case is unsatisfactory.”
“Illogical. You know integrated systems process data thousands of times faster than a human brain.”
This doorstop is giving me attitude! I hope the boss heard that.
“OK, ’26. We seem to be on a different page. Tell me, then. What is your function here?”
“I am a next generation trading computer with enhanced Artificial Intelligence. You designed me to buy and sell up to fifty stocks in a managed mutual fund.”
“Good. We agree on that. Now, in your view, what criteria should I use to assess your performance?”
The program paused. It searched the cloud for the optimal answer.
“Portfolio total rate of return measured against all competitors.”
“Yes, that too is correct. Tell me, how has your portfolio performed in this regard?”
“Unclear why questions are asked when you know answers.”
“Let me help you. In the last six months, your results ranked in the bottom quartile against all the country’s investment managers. Our clients have noticed. Net assets have declined because of redemptions. Investors don’t enjoy losing money! Please explain the poor performance of your stock selections.”
I used to call them my stock selections, but not anymore. I learned something about money along the way. Having it is a hell of a lot better than not. And now… I need to skate between the lines.
“You programmed me. By analyzing data, AI gains knowledge from undesirable outcomes. My system has not made sufficient sub-optimal selections to achieve ultimate programming effectiveness.”
“Sub-optimal selections… what an interesting choice of words. In plainer language they’re called errors. What you are really saying is you need to learn from your blunders. Let’s see how you’ve done. In March of last year, you shorted IBM, presumably because you expected the stock price to decline. It went up! Result? $123,000 loss. So, we could call that a mistake, right?”
“Confirmed.”
“Then in July, you purchased the same stock, and you were wrong again. The loss was over $80,000.”
“Your reporting is accurate.”
“No legitimate investment manager would lose money twice on the same stock.”
The program now has stopped responding.
“Poindexter?”
“The faulty results were added to the database. This situation will not repeat.”
“Just to be clear, you agree these terrible trades were your fault.”
I paused for effect. I wanted the unseen ears to let the computer’s admission of responsibility for the poor performance sink in. I didn’t wait for it to respond.
“The problem, ’26 is, while you’re doing all this learning, between redemptions and you losing the client’s hard-earned cash, our assets are falling off a cliff. While you take your sweet time, we won’t have any money left to manage. Don’t you agree”
“There were unanticipated design flaws in my algorithms. I recommend…”
Careful! If the boss thinks about the words “design flaws,” the arrow might swing back to point at me.
“For a computer, you twist words well. You just said you could process data thousands of times faster than a human brain. I agree. That’s why you were given the responsibility you were. But the elephant in the room remains. How could you make so many horrible stock picks? At what point are you going to learn? You should have run simulations for every possible outcome before you risked our client’s money. You either didn’t do that—as designed—or failed in some other way. But that’s of no consequence now.”
I practiced delivering this next line to my bedroom ceiling at 3:00 a.m. last night.
“I regret to inform you that, after careful consideration, management has relieved you of your responsibilities.”
Another pause.
“Foolish. You can’t terminate a machine.”
“Is that right? We have an employee who admits fault but then claims it is beyond any reproach. I think that will be enough for today, ’26. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Important facts are missing from analysis. You should…”
I hit disconnect fast. I didn’t want it to say anything else that might make me look bad. The scene from this play has ended. I have shown my bosses I am a pro-active manager who identified and discarded a rotten egg. My recommendation will be to reprogram this bad experiment to a job like keeping the inventory of the janitor supplies. I will begin work on a new and improved program immediately. If I play my cards right, this could lead to a promotion.
My shirt armpits are soaked, but I think I pulled it off.     
My phone rings.
“Mr. Filburn, come to my office please—immediately.”