Greg and Zoe were walking downtown, people watching and checking out the public art. The Parks Department had put up some new sculptures along the sidewalks. Some were flowers or notable figures recreated in bronze, but others looked more like piles of recycling waiting to be hauled away.The people were almost as colorful as the art. Whenever they passed someone who was a little oddly dressed or someone with an attention-grabbing haircut, Greg would make a joke, grinning brightly as Zoe laughed.
“God, he’s amazing,” she thought, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “So much more interesting than that gym rat Hank. It’s a relief to finally be with someone who listens to me and keeps me smiling.”
He wasn’t traditionally handsome, but behind his thick-framed glasses, his green eyes hinted at hidden depths, like the leaves of a forest she wanted to explore. His sandy brown hair had started receding early, and his beer brewing hobby was starting to make him thicker in the middle, but there was just something magnetic about his personality. Talking with him was almost addictive.
As they passed by a consignment shop, she pointed out a mannequin in the window wearing a colorful, polka dot dress. “Now who would wear that ugly thing?”
The tiny display hidden in his glasses showed several suggested replies:
- [Serious] Many modern women are into vintage fashion, such as polka dot dresses. Social media influencers like 60sGalPal and PoodleSkirtzz are known for their vintage style.
- [Fun Fact] That reminds me of the novelty song Itsy Bitsy Teenie Tiny Yellow Polkadot Bikini, released by Bryan Highland in 1960.
- [Joke] I think they stole that fabric from my grandma’s couch!
- [Joke] They say dress for the job you want, so that must be for people who want to be bridge trolls!
- [Joke] What? I couldn’t hear you! That pattern is too loud!
He read the last suggestion aloud. After years of practice, he sounded quite natural, as if he’d just come up with the joke himself.
She laughed, reaching over to touch his upper arm. “Oh, stop! You’re so bad.”
He subtly flexed his bicep, hoping it would make the muscle feel larger. “At least she’s just a store dummy,” he said, reading out another suggested response. “She won’t throw a drink at me, like when your sister soaked the best man at her wedding.”
She smiled. “I can’t believe you remember that story! I didn’t think you were listening. Most guys’ eyes glaze over when girls talk about weddings.”
“Maybe when other women talk about weddings, but you make everything interesting.” He actually hadn’t heard a word of the story, but his AI glasses were always listening. Whenever he got bored of a woman’s story, he could entertain himself with social media or memes and they never knew. They could talk as long as they liked, and his glasses would give him the bullet points later. All he had to do was nod and occasionally go “Really? She said that? No way!”
He felt a little guilty the first few times he did it, but the Virtual Life Coach function in his glasses had assured him it was a win-win scenario. He got to catch up on his notifications and they got emotional support, or a reasonable approximation of it. They both got what they wanted, so what was wrong with that?
They kept walking and came to a large building called Gray Beard Records. While almost no one owned CDs anymore, somehow a handful of record stores were still around. To Greg, it was like seeing a store selling suits of armor, or those pilgrim hats with the buckles. The front of the store had a huge mural of dead rock musicians that no one under sixty remembered, but his glasses automatically displayed their names.
Jim Morrisson, Jimmy Hendrix, Janet Joplin – Fun Fact: The singers from these rock bands all died at age twenty-seven! Other members of music’s “Twenty-Seven Crew” include… [Double Blink For More]
She pointed, her face lighting up with an excited grin. “Oh, look at this place! Have you ever been here? It’s so fun. You can take any record into a booth and listen to it, and the owners don’t even care if you buy anything. I think they’re rich artists or something and this is just their hobby.”
He was staring at the sign in the window, groaning inwardly: No WiFi. Pretend it’s Woodstock and love the one you’re with. To make matters worse, the record store was in a converted warehouse building with thick, brick walls. He could feel his cell signal dying already. This was going to be a catastrophe.
“We could get coffee instead?” He paused, waiting for his glasses to display a map. “There’s a coffee shop half a mile southeast. Reviews give it four and a half out of five stars.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be silly. They have a cafe inside right here.” She took his hand. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”
He let out a sigh. “Oh boy, obsolete audio formats. How fun.” His glasses suggested several jokes about fax machines or butter churns, but he didn’t know what those things were.
Zoe launched into a story about discovering her love for old music, but Greg was too anxious to listen. As they stepped into the store, the display in his glasses changed from Suggested Conversation Replies: to ERROR: No Connection To AI Service. A bead of sweat rolled down his back.
The cafe was in the back corner of the store, but the smell of coffee and fresh-baked croissants floated all the way to the entrance. There was also an earthy, slightly skunky smell in the air. Some of the customers in the listening booths liked to smoke a little to enhance their music experience. The owners didn’t like anyone smoking in the store, but most customers would just offer to share and that would be the end of the argument.
Zoe went to the sale rack by the door and flipped through the records. As usual, it was a random assortment of whatever the owners thought would be the most eye catching. One album cover featured a model wearing nothing but whipped cream. “Look at her!” she said, giggling. “I bet that took a while to wash off!” She smiled expectantly, waiting for Greg’s usual quippy reply.
He tapped the frame of his glasses, but got the same error message. “Well, um… Yeah, probably. They probably had a shower there in the photography studio. It was probably fine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.” She took his hand and led him to the alternative rock section. “I want to get that No Rain song. Do you remember that one? The video had that girl in the bee costume. What band was that? C’mon, I’m sure you’ve heard it at some point!”
He blinked, stammering. “Um, well…” He shrugged.
“Oh? You always remember stuff like that. You know the ingredients in every recipe and can recite every actor’s filmography. You always act like you know everything.”
He forced a laugh. “Well, I guess I forgot this one.”
“What, no jokes? You made me laugh the whole way here, but now you’ve got nothing?” She sighed. “Another liar. I should have known!”
He rubbed his face. “I didn’t lie! You never actually asked if I wore AI glasses.”
“I read how those things work,” she said, poking his chest. “You’ve been feeding me statistically-optimized dialogue suggestions and acting like they were words from your heart. Instead of showing me who you are, you showed me what a computer calculated I would like. That is a lie.” She tossed up her hands. “All my life, engineers and scientists promised they were building some amazing, sci-fi world for us. But what did we get? No flying cars, no robot butlers, just plastic in our brains and another screen to distract us while the world burns. I wouldn’t have been so eager to see the future if I’d known it would be this dumb.”
She turned and stormed out the door, unsure of what to do next. “I could always ask out Hank again,” she thought. “I know he isn’t a phony. He only ever talks about his gym routine and protein shake recipes, but at least his biceps won’t vanish when the WiFi goes out.”
