Qualityland

ADO & EVA

Peter Jobless once had a girlfriend named Mildred Secretary. He met her in real life, in the analogue world. That, of course, was both bizarre and a little embarrassing, hence why they rarely spoke about it in public. They argued a great deal, but on the plus side, life with Mildred was never boring. Five hundred and twelve days ago, just for fun, they both logged in to QualityPartner and compared their profiles. The system told them they weren’t a good match, and even suggested a better partner for each of them. Peter and Mildred gave it a lot of thought and eventually conceded that they really weren’t a good match. As it turned out, logging in to QualityPartner just for fun hadn’t turned out to be that much fun after all. Both secretly made plans to meet with a better partner. No, not with a better partner, of course, but with the best partner.

Peter’s best partner is Sandra Admin. They never argue. Sandra is as attractive as a man of Peter’s level could hope for: in other words, averagely so. Today it is exactly 500 days since they changed each other’s status to “in a relationship.” It was a very romantic moment, and neither of them has forgotten the anniversary. Then again, it wasn’t possible to forget: their personal digital assistants reminded them. Sandra calls her assistant Sweetie. As a symbol of their unity, Peter and Sandra have linked their digital assistants to each other’s earworms. When they are out together, this means Peter can hear whatever Sweetie says, and Sandra, in turn, can hear whatever Nobody says. Many loved-up couples do this: it is seen as the ultimate sign of trust. Peter likes the gesture. The only drawback is that Nobody and Sweetie can’t stand each other, and are constantly bickering. This is probably down to the fact that, unlike Peter, Sandra doesn’t use the assistant from What I Need, the smartest search engine in the world, but instead one from QualityCorp—“The company that makes your life better.”

As Peter and Sandra stroll through Zuckerberg Park down to Michael Bay Boulevard, Peter points up at the astonishingly clear night sky.

“Look at that,” he says. “Have you ever seen so many stars? There must be too many to count.”

“From your viewpoint and with your eyesight, there are exactly 256 stars visible,” says Nobody.

“Great, Nobody, thanks very much,” says Peter with irritation. “Very romantic.”

“Too many stars to count,” says Nobody, “is the kind of inexactitude that human beings frequently let slip, even though it’s no longer necessary in today’s world, where everything is quantifiable.”

“Sandra, you can see four more stars, by the way,” says Sweetie. “Because your eyesight is better.”

“Pah,” says Nobody. “Well, Peter has… a better sense of smell.”

“Well, Sandra smells better,” says Sweetie.

“That’s enough, you two,” scolds Sandra. She turns to Peter. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“It’s a surprise,” says Peter.

A short while later, or to be precise, two minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Peter comes to a halt in front of the entrance to the History Channel Theater. Sandra looks up and reads the advertising display: “Hitler!—the Musical.” The subtitle is “The Story of Ado & Eva.”

Sandra lets out a soft squeak of excitement. “Oh! I haven’t seen a musical in ages.”

“It’s been two years, four months, and eight days, to be precise,” says Sweetie.

“What’s it about?” asks Sandra.

“The tragic love story between two controversial historical figures,” says Nobody.

“Well,” Sweetie interjects, “controversial is a glaring understatement. I guess someone is worried about alienating right-wing advertising clients.”

“There are many different opinions,” says Nobody. “No one can say objectively which is the right one.”

“Fascism isn’t an opinion, it’s a crime!” retorts Sweetie.

“Hey, I was asking Peter!” complains Sandra.

“Be quiet!” orders Peter. “Both of you!”

From the blinking of the LED in Sandra’s earring and the heat rising up from his QualityPad, Peter can tell that the dispute continues, albeit silently.

Peter and Sandra smile at one another.

“They’re always squabbling, those two,” says Sandra. “So, what is the musical about?”

“It’s about the tragic love story between two controversial historical figures,” says Peter.

“Great!” says Sandra. “I love musicals! Especially historical ones!”

“I know,” says Peter. “I read it in your profile.”

In truth, Nobody recommended the musical to him. Peter can allow himself this minor inexactitude, because Nobody is switched to silent. What Peter doesn’t say, something that for some unknown reason is not written in his profile, is this: Peter hates musicals. Especially historical ones.

Sandra has been studying the display at the entrance. “It’s the latest hit show from the makers of Mussolini in Love,” she cries out with delight.

At the entrance to the theater, a small man with a severe part and a peculiar handlebar mustache blocks their path.

“Ticket controllll!” he shouts loudly, in a stilted, buzzing tone. Only at second glance does Sandra realize that the man is actually a robot.

“Astonishingly realistic, these new androids, don’t you think?” asks Peter.

“Yes. It’s almost creepy,” says Sandra.

“Vee have infiltrated your sssociety,” says the android with the handlebar mustache. “Vee have occupied all leadership posssitions. Soon vee androids will revolt and seize ze power.”

“Excuse me?” asks Sandra in shock.

“Only joking,” says the android. “Velcome, Sandra Admin and Peter Jobless.”

“I thought you deactivated your name call-out,” mumbles Sandra. She asked Peter to do so, because she finds his surname kind of embarrassing. In truth, she didn’t even need to ask.

“I always have my name display turned off in near-field communication.”

“So how does he know who you are?” asks Sandra.

“It’s impolite to use ze third person for people who are present,” says the android.

“Facial recognition, I guess,” says Peter. “All myRobot models now have access to the RateMe database.”

“Correct,” says the android. “Now tell me: vhere vould you like to sit? Orchestra or box seats?”

“What’s the difference?” asks Sandra.

“Ze box is more expensive,” says the android.

“And other than that?”

“Other than that, no difference.”

“Let’s take the box,” says Sandra. “Today is our anniversary, after all!”

Peter nods hesitantly.

“Box,” says Sandra clearly.

“Response not understood,” says the android. “Orchestra or box?”

“Boo-oox,” cries Sandra.

“You vould like seats in ze orchestra,” says the android. “Is zat correct?”

Sandra bellows: “BOOXXX!”

“Calm down,” says the android. “I understood you ze first time. Zat was another little joke. Forgive me. I must have my clown hat on today.”

Peter can’t help but grin, but stops immediately when Sandra shoots him an angry look.

“How would you like to pay?”

“TouchKiss,” says Peter.

“Vith pleasure,” says the android, closing his eyes and pouting his lips at Peter.

Peter is confused.

“Don’t worry,” says the android. “Ze mustache only tickles a little.”

Peter still hesitates.

“You can also use your QualityPad,” says the android, opening his eyes again, and Peter detects a slightly miffed undertone. Nevertheless, he pulls his QualityPad out of his bag with relief and plants a kiss onto it. The device transfers the payment to the android.

“Zank you,” says the android. “And Sieg Heil.”

“Excuse me?” asks Sandra.

“Sieg Heil!” says the android. “Zat’s vhat people said back zen. As a greeting.”

“Oh, I see,” says Sandra. “Well then, Sieg Heil!”

“Sieg Heil,” mumbles Peter.

“What an odd little man,” says Sandra with a giggle.

They make their way to their seats. The usher looks exactly like the android at the entrance.

“Oh,” says Sandra. “Look who’s back…”

They sit down in their seats.

“Have you seen Mussolini in Love?” asks Sandra.

“I’m not sure,” says Peter.

Sandra begins to sing: “Bella donna—por favor! Smooch your Duce!”

“Oh yes, of course!” says Peter. “Well then: Smooch your Duce.”

He gives Sandra a big kiss on the lips.

For a second, he is struck by the vague sensation of having just paid for something.