Qualityland

AN UNWANTED PRODUCT

“Hello, Peter Jobless! Welcome to the service center of TheShop—‘The world’s most popular online retailer.’ How can I be of assistance?” asks the female android at the counter. She looks very attractive, very nice, and very friendly. But Peter feels a little freaked out, because the same very attractive, very nice, and very friendly-looking android is standing at every one of the 128 counters.

“Well, first of all I’d like to know,” says Peter, “why that guy at the counter next to me was called up first even though he arrived long after I did?”

“He has a higher level.”

“And that makes his time more valuable than mine?”

“Precisely. The time of higher-leveled people is more valuable because they contribute more to the common good.”

“Really?” asks Peter. “So an investment adviser, for example, who tricks pensioners out of their pension funds, contributes more to the common good than I do?”

“Hello, Peter Jobless!” says the android. “Welcome to the service center of TheShop—‘The world’s most popular online retailer.’ How can I be of assistance?”

Peter sighs.

“I’d like to return something,” he says.

“Do you already know our telephone hotline—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve already called it.”

“I can’t see any call recorded on the system.”

“The voice kept cutting out and—”

“I understand,” says the android. “Please accept my apologies, but that’s a problem that all big organizations are battling with right now. Unfortunately there are an increasing number of AIs who, instead of reporting their faults, keep them secret for fear of being wiped and replaced. But don’t worry, we’ll soon resolve it. So what would you like to return?”

“This,” says Peter, taking the pink dolphin vibrator out of his rucksack.

After a brief pause, the android says: “Unfortunately that won’t be possible. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

“But I don’t want the thing!” cries Peter in frustration, waving the vibrator in front of the android’s nose.

“Yes, you do want it.”

“No, I don’t want it!”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do too.”

“Good God!” exclaims Peter. “This is so childish!”

“Too right!”

“Okay,” says Peter. “I’ll start again from the beginning. At this service center, OneKiss customers are able to return unwanted products. Is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

“I am a OneKiss customer. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“And I have here a pink dolphin vibrator, an unwanted product.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?!?”

“The pink dolphin vibrator is not an unwanted product.”

“I think that’s for me to decide.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“I want to speak to your supervisor.”

The android hesitates.

“What’s the problem?” asks Peter.

“I don’t want to put you under any emotional pressure, but I’m only allowed to refer a maximum of eight customers per month. You would be the seventh this month already. If I refer more than eight customers, I’ll be regarded as defective and have to get myself scrapped.”

Peter hands her his business card.

“When the time comes, call me.”

For sixty-four minutes, Peter has been sitting at a round table in a consultation room, waiting. He is exactly sixty-four minutes’ more annoyed than he was sixty-four minutes ago, and back then he was already pretty annoyed. When the door finally opens, the android he was speaking to earlier comes in.

“I wanted to speak to your supervisor,” cries Peter.

“I am the supervisor.”

Only now does Peter notice that she’s wearing her hair differently.

“I want to speak to a human.”

The woman smiles.

“I am a human,” she says.

Peter sniffs the air.

“What are you doing?” asks the woman.

“It’s an old trick of mine. If it stinks, it’s human.”

“How charming.”

“So the similarity is just a coincidence, or…”

“I was the model for our service ladies.”

“Not in terms of competency, I hope.”

“I have nothing to do with their inner workings,” says the woman. “To me it was just eight minutes in a 3-D scanner, and I even got one to take home with me. Very practical, so the children don’t feel so lonely. Or for when my husband is in the mood but I’m not.” She laughs.

“I hope your husband has a copy of himself too,” says Peter. “Then you could even have sex when neither of you is in the mood. After all, regular sex is supposed to be important for a good marriage.”

“Coffee?” asks the woman.

Peter gestures toward the full cup of coffee which has remained untouched in front of him on the table for sixty-four minutes, and says: “No. But how attentive of you.”

“So, what can I do for you?” asks the woman.

“You can explain to me why there’s a service center for returning products in which it’s not possible to return products.”

“But of course people can return products here,” says the woman. “That’s what we do ten days a week.”

“So it’s just me who’s not allowed to return things?”

“No, of course you can return things too.”

“But not the dolphin vibrator,” says Peter.

The woman laughs, then focuses her pupils on a spot across the empty room.

“No, not that.”

“I think one of us has lost their mind,” says Peter. “So there are products which I’m able to return, and other products which I’m not.”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Look,” says the woman. “I’d like to be frank with you. In the beginning, the acceptance rate for OneKiss was relatively low, interestingly, on account of the fact that the predictive delivery worked too well. Our customers didn’t want to feel that predictable. So our developers took great pains to send out an unwanted product now and again. A product that we know the customer doesn’t want. Astonishingly, the acceptance rate shot up. And just between you and me, many customers are too lazy to send back the unwanted products, so TheShop even makes a little extra.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asks Peter. “Are you about to kill me or something?”

“Oh, it’s no secret,” says the woman. “It’s all in our GTC. It’s just that nobody reads them.”

“And what does all this have to do with me?”

“Well, you can of course return unwanted products.”

“Then I should be able to return the dolphin vibrator.”

“No.”

Peter groans. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not an unwanted product.”

“But I don’t want the fucking thing.”

“Yes,” says the woman, “you do want it.”

“What makes you think you know what I want?” Peter blurts out.

“I don’t. But the system does.”

“I insist that you refer me to the next complaint authority!”

“There is no next complaint authority.”

“Are you telling me that you don’t have a boss?”

“My only boss is Henryk Engineer.”

“Then I want to speak to this Henryk Engineer guy!” demands Peter.

The woman smiles with amusement.

“I’m afraid you haven’t understood me correctly. Henryk Engineer is not just my boss. He’s the boss of everything here. He’s the boss of TheShop—‘The world’s most popular online retailer.’ He’s the richest man in the world!”

“Yes, and so what?” asks Peter defiantly.

“Let me put it like this: there’s more chance of aliens made of intelligent custard taking over the world than there is of you having a conversation with Henryk Engineer.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we!”

“Yes. We will.”

“I swear to you,” says Peter. “I won’t rest until you take back this godforsaken vibrator!”

“You’re a Level 9 machine scrapper,” says the woman. “A Useless. Don’t overestimate your capabilities.”

“I…” splutters Peter, “I will delete my account.”

“I’m trembling, Mr. Jobless. Literally trembling.”

“So you’re refusing to do it?”

“Are you aware of the fact that you forfeit any right to return goods if you cancel your account? And I am also sorry to have to inform you,” says the woman with a smile, “that for obvious reasons we are unable to take back used sex toys.”

“It’s not used!” shouts Peter. “And you’ve just thought up that rule on the spot!”

The woman stares briefly into the distance, then makes a swiping movement and gives the thumbs up.

“It’s already in our GTC,” she says.

Peter’s QualityPad vibrates, informing him that TheShop—The world’s most popular online retailer—has just updated its general terms and conditions.

Beneath the notification, there is only one possible response: “OK.”