Qualityland

by Marc-Uwe Kling

  “I’m sure you all know the old QualityPartner slogan: ‘Love at first click,’” says Oliver. “I find it too twee. We have to place more emphasis on the advantages of a coupling system free from human error.”

  “SoleMates!” suggests one of Sandra’s colleagues.

  “SoleMates…” says Oliver. “Not bad.”

  “Quality is Priceless!” calls another.

  “Actually,” says Oliver. “I wasn’t thinking of one specific slogan. I want lots of slogans. I want a chick who goes for beefy black guys to see a beefy black guy on the screen, and a guy who likes chubby redheads to get his chubby redhead.”

  Suddenly, Oliver remembers the chubby redhead standing next to him on the stage, and regrets not having spent more time preparing his speech. He could probably have found a more appropriate example.

  “I want the first genuinely personalized advertising campaign in the world!” he continues hastily. “I don’t want a campaign. I want eight billion of them!”

  Excited chatter breaks out in the hall.

  “As you may know,” says Patricia Team-Leader, “for some years now we’ve even matched up the life expectancies of our customers. And so successfully that social networks like Everybody are full of stories about QualityPartner couples who didn’t just die in the same year or month—of which there are many—but on the same day or even in the same hour. I think it’s a lovely feature, especially for older customers. You should definitely emphasize that.”

  A few weeks ago, Sandra had edited a news item about a QualityPartner couple who died in the very same minute. However, they both died in a car accident that cut their lives short by thirty-two years, hence why some sticklers later commented that this very well-coordinated double death couldn’t possibly be regarded as a further QualityPartner success.

  “Who of you is registered with QualityPartner?” asks Oliver, looking out into the audience.

  Sandra hesitates. Only once she sees that almost all of her colleagues have raised their hands does she raise hers too.

  “So, to all those who’ve been living under a rock,” says Oliver, “I recommend you sign up as quickly as possible. The registration and first partner are free! You can, of course, try your luck in the analogue world—but if you do that you’ll probably stay single. It’s so probable, actually, that our campaign should try to establish ‘analogue’ as a synonym for single.”

  Oliver points toward a balding older man who is sitting next to Sandra. “You at the front, Anton Tax-Adviser, right?” Oliver asks in such a way as to imply he remembers the names of his employees, but of course it’s clear to everyone that his contact lenses have superimposed the name.

  “Yes?” asks Anton.

  “You didn’t raise your hand just then,” says Oliver. “Can I ask you why you’re not registered with QualityPartner?”

  “I, erm, I’ve been married for seventeen years.”

  “You see, I think that’s where the problem lies,” says the QualityPartner boss. “The old ad agency concentrated on singles, on analogues, without even questioning it. An unforgivable mistake. I, on the other hand, see all couples who didn’t find each other through QualityPartner as amongst our target groups as well.”

  “For these people, the campaign should focus on the fact that there’s definitely a better partner for them out there,” says Oliver, before turning back to Anton. “Don’t you ever get that feeling sometimes? That you’ve settled?”

  “No, actually I don’t,” says Anton.

  “Then I can guarantee you that your wife does,” says Oliver with a laugh.

  Chuckles from the audience. Anton Tax-Adviser sinks down into his seat.

  “Just try it,” says Oliver, holding a QualityPad close to his employee’s mouth.

  The contents of the device’s display are projected onto a large screen. As soon as Anton’s lips hesitantly touch the display, the system only needs 1.6 seconds, thanks to RateMe, to find the best possible match. Everyone watches as QualityPartner compares Anton’s calendar with that of the new partner and sets a first date for the day after tomorrow. The system also reserves a table at a suitable restaurant and displays the menu: cream of pumpkin soup, risotto with prawn substitute, and caramelized FaSaSu.

  “Caramelized FaSaSu?” asks Oliver with disgust.

  Anton nods with embarrassment.

  “Well, make sure your health insurance doesn’t get wind of that.”

  The audience laughs again.

  “Anyway, one person who most definitely will not find out about your date is your wife,” says Oliver, swiping across his QualityPad. “She has plans to meet her friend Diana at the cinema on Fiveday. QualityPartner will let you know in good time when you need to set off home.”

  To Sandra, it seems that her neighbor looks rather unhappy.

  “You don’t have to worry,” says Patricia Team-Leader to Anton. “We may only offer you one person, but from the very beginning QualityPartner provides its customers with a fourteen-day returns policy, in case someone isn’t content with their new companion. The first replacement partner is completely free. But because hardly anyone makes use of it, now we even offer—and I think the campaign for the younger target group should concentrate on this—a premium service with a life-long return guarantee. This offer, called PartnerCare, is available for a very reasonable monthly fee. The best thing about PartnerCare is the automatic upgrades, because of course individuals change sometimes, and grow apart from their partners in the process. If that happens, we immediately suggest a new partner. Having said that, researchers have found that we humans don’t change as much as we used to, mainly because we’re only surrounded by people who think exactly the same as us. And I can tell you, not without an element of pride, that we have played our part in that.”

  “Now, who of you would like to register for the new premium service PartnerCare?” asks Oliver.

  Sandra hesitates. Only once she notices that almost all of her colleagues have raised their hand does she raise hers too.

  Her boss looks at her. He nods. Without a word, he holds the QualityPad in front of her face. Sandra shuts her eyes, then kisses it.

  PARTNERCARE

  After work, Peter and Sandra meet in a restaurant that Sweetie has suggested. Nobody didn’t agree with the choice and thinks the restaurant is awful, so Peter has switched him on to silent. The restaurant was the first in the city to have only cultivated meat on its menu, or in other words, laboratory-generated meat.

  “The meeting was so exciting!” chatters Sandra. “We’re doing a big campaign for QualityPartner. Did I already mention that I’ve jumped up two levels? Have you heard of PartnerCare? It’s a really exciting program. It can save people a lot of time that they would otherwise have to spend working on their relationships.”

  Peter holds a forkful of steak up against the light and says, “Who would have thought that one day our food would be more cultivated than us?”

  “You really don’t have any ambition whatsoever, do you?” asks Sandra.

  Peter sighs.

  “You’re at Level 10,” says Sandra. “If you drop down one more level, you’ll be Useless. You need to get your ass in gear!”

  “I know, I know,” says Peter. “You’re right. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I mean, recently we were talking about having a baby…”

  Sandra sighs. “Peter, I’ve just been promoted!”

  “Yes, but I could look after the baby. It could hang out with me in the shop. I mean, for the most part there’s nothing to do anyway.”

  “I have to keep at it now.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “We can’t afford an optimized baby anyway!” snaps Sandra. “And there’s no way I’m ruining my child’s life with a natural birth.”

  “We could scrape the money together for the genetic improvement,” says Peter. Sandra is just about to respond when she receives a message. Her watch, her glasses, her bracelet, and her earrings all
vibrate. She twitches her nose, and the message appears on her glasses: “A new notification from QualityPartner PartnerCare: ‘Hello, Sandra. A new, better partner at a higher level is now available for you. If you would like to connect with him, choose OK now.’”

  Sandra looks at Peter. He gives her a friendly smile. She smiles back. Then she focuses her pupils on OK.

  Sweetie whispers to her: “A good decision, if I may say so.”

  A follow-up question appears on Sandra’s glasses: “Would you like QualityPartner to automatically set the time and location for a rendezvous with your new partner?” Sandra fixes her pupils on OK again.

  “Is everything all right?” asks Peter. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

  “I’m fine.”

  The next question appears: “Would you like QualityPartner to inform your old partner about the dissolution of the relationship?”

  Sandra hesitates briefly, then selects OK.

  Peter’s QualityPad vibrates inside his rucksack.

  Sandra suddenly feels kind of bad.

  “Shall we go back to yours afterward?” asks Peter, “and maybe… listen to some soft rock?”

  “Why can you never just say ‘have sex’?” grumbles Sandra. “Fuck, bonk, bang. I mean, there are so many words for it. You could even say ‘make love’ for all I care. Why do you always use that euphemism? ‘Listen to soft rock.’”

  “And? Shall we?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Yet another question appears on Sandra’s glasses: “If you like, you can make the separation easier on your former partner by gifting him with a voucher for a new QualityPartner partner of his level. This would only cost you 100 Qualities. Would you like to do that?”

  Sandra selects OK. She immediately feels better.

  Peter’s QualityPad vibrates once again. He leans over, rummages around in his rucksack, and pulls out the QualityPad. By the time he looks up again, Sandra has disappeared.

  Two new messages are blinking on his QualityPad. He reads the first. “A new notification from QualityPartner: ‘Hello, Peter. Your relationship with Sandra Admin has been unexpectedly terminated. We apologize for any inconvenience and hope to be able to greet you again soon as a QualityPartner customer.’”

  Peter wants to press No, but the only option available is OK. So Peter presses OK, and reads the second message. “A new notification from QualityPartner: ‘Hello, Peter. Good news! Sandra Admin has gifted you with a QualityPartner voucher. If you like, we can immediately suggest a new partner in your level for no extra fee.’”

  Peter sighs, then selects: Ask again tomorrow.

  His QualityPad informs him, by means of a short sequence of sad tones, that he has just dropped down a level. Everyone around Peter looks at him, so discreetly that it is blatantly obvious. His relationship status has presumably just been updated. He is now officially useless.

  Peter activates his personal assistant. “Nobody, send a message to QualityPartner. Request a reduction of the importance of appearance by 50… no, wait, 25 percent.”

  “Your request has been denied,” Nobody reports back instantly. “It doesn’t correspond to your genuine wishes.”

  Peter sighs again, opens the TouchKiss app, and selects the dinner from the list of open tabs. Sandra’s dish is already marked as paid. Well, there’s that, if nothing else. Pressing his lips against his QualityPad in order to pay the rest, Peter thinks: I guess that was the goodbye kiss. It tastes stale. He reminds himself to clean the screen.

  The Sorcerer’s Apprentice Has Arrived!

  by Sandra Admin

  Yesterday, as part of a sixteen-day product presentation, myRobot—“Robots for you and me”—introduced a new model for the consumer market. The so-called Sorcerer’s Apprentice is an android that learns by watching humans carry out repetitive manual tasks. “Regardless of whether you’re a baker, hairdresser, storeman, or cleaner,” says Rebecca Midwife, CEO of myRobot, “simply show our Sorcerer’s Apprentice what you do and he’ll repeat it. Without tiring, without losing concentration, and with limitless frequency! After just a few hours’ training you’ll find you’ve become completely superfluous at your workplace. It’s absolutely fantastic!”

  Comments

  » by Natasha Bartender:

  My moronic ex gave my son one of these. And what was the first thing my hormone-overloaded teenager taught the sorcerer’s apprentice to do? I’ll give you three guesses…

  » by Brad Drug-Dealer:

  Awesome shit! A friend of mine is a Kung-Fu teacher and he’s just ordered 230 of the things. He’s always wanted to have an army of Kung Fu robots!!!

  » by Udo Hairdresser:

  I don’t like it at all…

  THE VOICE OF INSTRUMENTAL REASON

  As Tony Party-Leader steps onto the stage at the Progress Party headquarters, he can literally feel the spotlights burning his father’s overbearing shadow off him. He has spent his whole life working toward this moment. No easy task, because his father was the man who gave the country its name. Back when it was founded, the creatives at World Wide Wholesale actually suggested that the country be named “EqualityLand.” A survey revealed that 25.6 percent found the name “good” or “quite good,” 12.8 percent found it “bad” or “quite bad,” 51.2 percent were indifferent, and the rest didn’t understand the question. As the majority were in favor, therefore, the country was almost christened “EqualityLand,” but then Tony’s father, who was Finance Minister at the time, was hit by sudden inspiration. With a mere stroke of his fountain pen, he crossed out the first letter of the proposed name and made “EqualityLand” into “QualityLand.” At a press conference, he said: “I don’t know about you, but fair pay aside, as a consumer I’d choose a product ‘Made in QualityLand’ over a product ‘Made in EqualityLand’ any day of the week.”

  Recordings from this press conference still get a lot of clicks even today, and Tony is often asked about his father. This evening, though, he is the one in the limelight, because everyone here is in agreement that the nomination of an android as a presidential candidate is a legendary coup, a historical turning point. What remains the subject of heated debate, however, is whether it’s a very good idea or a very stupid one.

  Martyn Chairman hasn’t made his mind up yet either. The only thing he’s sure about is that Tony Party-Leader’s poll ratings weren’t high enough for him to run. Plus the fact that Tony and Conrad Cook can’t stand each other. So the android is Tony’s best chance of at least becoming vice president. Martyn steps into the meeting room a little late, having indulged in some heavy flirting with one of the Party hostesses en route. Even considering the unusual circumstances, Martyn is surprised by how agitated his colleagues are. Tony Party-Leader is up on the stage, trying to calm everyone down.

  “Let’s not kid ourselves!” he cries. “We’re in the midst of a deep confidence crisis. No one trusts anyone anymore, us politicians least of all. But what do the people trust? What is objective, incorruptible, and never makes mistakes? A machine, that’s what!”

  True, thinks Martyn.

  “There won’t be any doubts about John’s policies. They are mathematically certifiable.”

  A convincing point, thinks Martyn.

  “But what will his policies be?” calls a representative from the front row.

  A good question, thinks Martyn.

  “The same as ours,” answers Tony. “Progress and growth. But with the ability to faultlessly avoid crises.”

  That sounds good, thinks Martyn.

  “Have you programmed him to do that?” calls another representative.

  An important question, thinks Martyn.

  “We have intentionally given John no particular approach, because we don’t know what the best approach is,” says Tony. “I mean, if we could anticipate the result of his calculations, we wouldn’t need him in the first place.”

  That makes sense, thinks Martyn.

  “John has more computing power t
han all our brains put together!”

  Martyn looks around at his colleagues and mutters to himself: “That’s not exactly hard.”

  “John has access to all the data that has been collected since the beginning of the history of humanity. I assure you all that he will take the rationalization of all societal processes to a new level.”

  I’m hungry, thinks Martyn. When are they going to open the buffet?

  “Just imagine what that means, ladies and gentlemen! A flawless administration. John is the embodiment of pure instrumental reason!”

  Martyn has already stopped listening, but he claps when everyone else does.

  At the buffet afterward, a large crowd has formed around Tony and John. Every time a waitress comes by with drinks, John refuses with a friendly shake of his head.

  “John’s appearance was based upon images of that old actor,” explains Tony. “What was his name again?”

  “Bill Pullman,” says John.

  “Yes, that’s the one. He played a great president in that film… er… what was it called again?”

  “Independence Day,” says John.

  “That’s the one! Do the bit again, John. Do the bit!”

  John rolls his eyes.

  “Oh come on!”

  “We will not go quietly into the night,” says John, full of pathos. “We will not vanish without a fight. We’re going to live on. We’re going to survive. Today we celebrate,” John pauses and sighs, “our Independence Day.”

  Tony laughs. “Wonderful! Wonderful!”

  “He looks so real,” says one of the older cabinet members, as though she’s never seen an android before. “Can I touch?” She addresses the question to Tony, even though it’s John she wants to touch. Tony nods, and John takes it stoically as the woman runs her hand over his face and through his hair. It seems to Martyn that John’s smile is just a touch more artificial than before.

  “Perhaps you’d like to pinch my cheeks too?” asks the android.