Qualityland

QUALITYCARE

The first indication that Peter now has a single-digit level is that his friends unfriend him. They are, quite justifiably, concerned that friendship with a Useless could have a negative impact on their own levels. One of Peter’s former friends even writes to say that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it and that he’s sure Peter will understand to some degree. And Peter does understand. To some degree. Nobody has offered him some new friends, but Peter politely declined.

After his final dinner with Sandra, he went straight home. At precisely the moment when he arrives grumpily at his used-goods store, a OneKiss drone from TheShop arrives, and not by chance.

“Peter Jobless,” says the drone cheerfully. “I am from TheShop—‘The world’s most popular online retailer’—and I have a lovely surprise for you.”

The second indication that Peter is now useless is that all robots are addressing him informally, dropping the Mr.

In the package that he takes from the whirring drone, he finds a six-pack of beer. Only after he sees it does Peter realize that he genuinely does feel like getting drunk. He would prefer vodka, but even the beer, enjoyed in sufficient quantities, will enable him to kill off enough brain cells to get through the night. Peter notices that his mood is lifting. And that annoys him.

“I’m sensing that you’re annoyed,” says the drone. “Is there something wrong with the product?”

“No,” says Peter. “It’s just because of my girlfriend…”

“Oh yes,” says the drone. “I heard about that. I’m very sorry. From what I gathered, you were a lovely couple. Please rate me now.”

Her touchscreen lights up.

“Do you know what I’ve noticed?” asks Peter. “Whenever I have a particularly shitty day, it’s surprising how often a drone is waiting at home with some great product to cheer me up again.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied with my service,” says the drone. “Please rate me now.”

“An acquaintance of mine says that these things don’t happen by chance,” says Peter. “She says that the people who write the code—or perhaps I should say: the people that have the code written—want us to be happy, because frustration is unproductive. Dangerous, even.”

“An acquaintance of mine,” says the drone, “says that people don’t write the code anymore. There’s only the code. The code that writes the code.”

Peter doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Please rate me now,” says the drone.

Peter pulls a red felt-tip pen out of his trouser pocket and draws a red dot on the drone, next to the eye of her camera.

“What are you doing?” asks the drone.

“It’s so I can recognize you again. Now you’re unique.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Think about it.”

“Please rate me now.”

Peter sighs and gives the drone ten stars. She whirrs off contentedly.

The next morning, Peter wakes up very late. He spent the night with the six-pack. As soon as he had emptied the bottles, a drone whirred up to his window with a new six-pack. Now, an announcement on his QualityPad alerts him to the fact that, due to his ill-advised behavior, his points account with his health insurance company has slipped into negative.

Nobody immediately suggests that he pays a visit to the gym. Once he arrives, Peter books a holo cabin and runs on the treadmill as though a horde of zombies were after him. And in the holo scenario, there really is a horde of zombies after him, a selection the treadmill has suggested as being fitting to his mood. He runs and runs until a friendly voice says, “Peter! Your heartbeat is elevated. Please be careful; I’m reducing the speed.”

The voices are always so friendly, thinks Peter. Sometimes it drives him mad. He wonders whether a schizophrenic would be taken seriously nowadays.

“Doctor, I hear voices!”

“Who doesn’t, Peter? Who doesn’t?”

Peter gives up and jumps off the treadmill.

“Thank you, Peter,” says the treadmill, and the zombies disappear. “You have earned 16 QualityCare points. You can exchange your QualityCare points at any time with your insurance company for extras such as reduced-cost doctors’ appointments or shorter waiting times for life-saving operations. Thank you for taking care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Peter. “Fuck you.”

“Peter, please watch your language,” says the treadmill. “I know your girlfriend left you, but there’s no reason to take it out on me.”

“I know, you’re right,” says Peter.

“I think an apology is in order.”

“I’m sorry, treadmill.”

“You currently have -32 QualityCare points. Would you like to exchange some now?”

“No, thank you, treadmill.”

Peter’s QualityPad vibrates. He reads the message. “A new notification from QualityPartner: ‘Hello, Peter. Don’t forget your QualityPartner voucher! If you like, we can immediately suggest a new partner in your level for no extra charge.’”

Peter selects: Ask again tomorrow.

A few moments later he receives a message from Sandra Admin: “Peter, I’ve seen that you still haven’t connected with a new partner. My new partner is amazing!!! Especially at listening to soft rock ;-) I’m sure your new partner will be an excellent fit for you too! I worried about you. LYL. Sandra.”

Peter chooses one of the pre-written answers and sends it off. “The answer is: NO.”