Man Made
written by: Deryn Graham
“But madam, I’m afraid the terms and conditions of the sales contract clearly stipulate No refunds, so I’m afraid the best I can do is return the item to the manufacturer, have them look at it, and they will advise the nature of the defect, whether it can be repaired, and at whose cost,” fretted the obsequious store manager.
“How do you mean ‘at whose cost’? The ITEM is still under guarantee, so any repairs should surely be at the manufacturer’s cost and not passed on to me. And how long will this take, may I ask?” inquired Delilah.
“The manufacturer only collects once a week, and that was yesterday, so the item will only reach their workshop late next week…then there’s the time to strip the item down, check the mechanism, analyse the data…you’re looking at three weeks to a month,” the manager intoned.
“Three weeks to a month just to have them tell me it’s broken and how much it’s going to cost me! That’s outrageous!” Delilah was growing apoplectic with rage and indignation.
“And then, of course, if you accept the charges, should they fall to you, there will be the time required to book the item into their workshop, which has a waiting list of around two weeks, and then the repair period itself. And that can take anything up to…”
Delilah cut him off. “So, what you’re telling me is that I have to be without the item for up to three months, or maybe more. Do you – or the manufacturer, whose backlog in the repair shop smacks of shoddy workmanship in the first place – plan to provide an identical replacement model, with the same specs, in the meantime? I really cannot be without.”
“That will depend, madam, on the nature of the fault. If it’s a manufacturing defect, then yes, we can provide interim assistance, but if it is shown to be operator error, then I’m afraid the answer is no.” His mouth turned up slightly at the corners in the semblance of a smile. A mere courtesy, without a shred of genuine emotion, thought the more than disgruntled Delilah.
Three months earlier
She had purchased the item in question under some duress from friends who had insisted she absolutely needed one. She would wonder what she had ever done without one, they said. It would soon become indispensable, they assured her. Sceptical as to the utility of such a product, Delilah nevertheless went along with the plan, taking the two friends in question to the store to select and customise the model, which they had pre-selected from the online brochure.
The consultation felt a little like an episode of Say Yes to the Dress, Delilah had thought on the day of the appointment. It was her favourite show – she watched episode after episode enviously as the prospective brides tried on taffeta and lace, tulle and satin. Delilah had never had the pleasure of deciding between a fit and flare or ballgown, a dress with ruching or a sweetheart neck, and the resignation that she was never likely to was, in part, the reason she found herself in this situation. Delilah, Jesse, and Lou sat in line on a plush sofa on the showroom floor and waited for their personal sales consultant, Dan, who, they were assured, was one of the store’s most popular.
“I bet they say that to all the customers,” said Delilah.
Now they were in the actual shop, its location in an upmarket part of town and ostentatious furnishing both making a statement. Dan bounded out of the back office, lolloping across the floor, grinning from ear to ear, and clutching a clipboard. Delilah imagined his enthusiasm was driven by the anticipation of his commission on what would be a not insubstantial investment on her part.
“So, which one of you is the buyer!” he enquired, his eyes flitting between the three of them. He’s trying to guess which one of us is about to part with a large amount of money, 10% of which will eventually find its way into his pay cheque, thought Delilah.
“I am,” she answered quietly, eyes cast down. She wondered why she was making any pretence at being discreet, since all the sofas were occupied with other buyers with the same intent as her own, and that was to be the proud owner of one of the latest and most exclusive accessories ever to take the city by storm. Some said it was even more popular than was being reported in the media, as there were still many people who would never admit to owning such a gadget. Delilah felt the same and had kept the information about this appointment strictly between herself and Jesse, and Lou, her closest confidantes.
Dan turned his razor-sharp gaze and focus exclusively on Delilah and flashed his widest smile.
“So, can I demo our basic model for you, and then we can start with the customisation? Or do you want to ask me any questions before we start?”
“What’s the delivery time, once I’ve finalised the order?” Delilah asked, ever the practical one.
“Well, depending on the number of boxes that we tick here together today, it should be ready for collection in 10 days’ time.” Dan looked expectantly for assent from Delilah. “Of course, we can also arrange delivery, for an additional charge,” said Dan, picking up the cue from Delilah’s original question.
“I would have thought, given the size of the item, that delivery would be standard,” responded Delilah.
“Well, some people want to walk out of the store with the item, already unboxed,” said Dan, countering Delilah’s prickly attitude. “Shall we get started?” he looked at each of the three women in turn to include them all in the question.
“Absolutely,” answered Jesse.
“Let’s do this,” said Lou.
Delilah remained silent.
With a flourish, Dan pulled out an expensive-looking pen from the top pocket of his jacket and clicked it open. He brought the clipboard up to chest height, turned to the door from which he had bounded, and gave a nod to an invisible flunkey.
A man strode purposefully toward them, a blank expression on his face.
“So, this is HR2025/973, but I’m sure you’ve already thought of a name to replace that rather impersonal serial number,” Dan said, the inflexion at the end of the sentence suggesting this was a question and not a statement.
“Shall we start with that?” he prompted.
Delilah looked from Jesse to Lou, who both nodded encouragement.
“Go on, then,” said Jesse gently.
“Er, Sebastian,” mumbled Delilah. “But Seb for short.”
“I don’t believe we’ve had a Sebastian previously, so that’s splendid,” said Dan, adding the information into the form on his clipboard. His writing appeared to be as flamboyant as he was, as he formed whirls and loops of the letters.
Item by item and specification by specification, Sebastian began to take on the identity Delilah had dreamed up for him.
Naturally, he came with basic features including Delilah’s height stipulation – she was 1.7 metres, so had requested that her model stood at least 1.8m, allowing her to wear heels should the occasion call for them.
His hair was dark and floppy – and that’s how it would stay. She had erred on the side of long as she could always take Seb to the barbers, but ordered short, it would never grow.
Then, green eyes. She loved the combination of dark hair and green eyes, and wondered if she should have chosen an Irish-sounding name, rather.
They ran through the various voice options, as well as accents. A little like choosing the voice on your GPS system, observed Delilah, ignoring Dan’s critical sidelong glance. She was not treating her choices with enough gravity for him, it seemed. He played them a variety of timbres, and they collectively chose the mid-level, not too deep, and definitely not the piping little voice at the top end of the scale. Who even liked that voice for a man, asked Delilah with a roll of her eyes.
The list of personalised details was never-ending. She hadn’t even considered that she would have to rule on the shape and length of Sebastian’s fingernails, for example. All her previous boyfriends in real life (for ‘all’ read, ‘the few’) had taken care of their own personal hygiene, and now she had to worry about clipped nails, or a long pinky (ugh), and there was even a ‘bitten or ragged nails’ option (for verisimilitude, added Dan). Chest hair was a no-brainer, as well as the addition of a downy ‘treasure trail’ as Dan euphemistically called the line of hair from Sebastian’s navel to his pubic area. Since he had no sexual functionality, there were no specs for his genitals (he’s not a blow-up doll, Dan had reminded Delilah in his most professional tone, when at one point the three women got a little risqué). Delilah speculated that his groin would look a little like Action Man or Ken, an innocuous moulded mound of nothing.
“You’d have thought, for the price…” she had added, with a shrug of disappointment.
“And now for his customised starter wardrobe,” said Dan, clicking his fingers in the direction of the back office, from where another automaton emerged pushing a clothes rail.
“Based on your preferences, we have included a range of smart, casual, and smart casual outfits for Seb – is it all right for me to call him Seb?” asked Dan in a deferential tone.
“Er, yes, of course. Can’t hurt his feelings, after all, and anyway, he’s not even here yet,” replied Delilah.
“From the moment you came in, Seb was real to me,” said Dan, sounding a little hurt. It began to dawn then on Delilah that perhaps Dan wasn’t all he appeared to be. She nudged Jesse as Dan disappeared behind the jeans and jackets.
“He’s one of them!” she hissed, clapping her hand over her mouth in shock and realisation. “Dan is a ‘bot! OMG!”
Dan reappeared, holding up a beautifully cut cashmere coat on a hanger.
“I might not have hearing in the conventional sense, but our aural receptors are highly sensitive,” Dan commented, smiling while making his point but choosing not to labour it. Delilah wondered about the ‘choosing’.
The whole thing was becoming very confusing, and she wondered what she was getting into. She hadn’t even asked about On or Off buttons, downtime, or EQ. She had gone into this with a degree of desperation, she couldn’t lie. She had been on her own too long and just wanted a companion, a good-looking one, who cleaned up after himself, was attentive, and who didn’t want to spend Saturdays sprawled on the sofa watching sport. She wanted conversations with someone who remembered what she’d told them and even asked her about her day. Who dressed well, had some pride in his appearance, who didn’t belch and fart loudly, and then laugh at themselves. Who didn’t sulk when she didn’t want sex or went out with her girlfriends. Who could cook, didn’t have a domineering mother who hated her, and who didn’t care that she never wanted children. And who didn’t mind her displays of affection for her cats. A male unicorn, in other words.
“I’m sorry,” muttered Delilah, wondering as well about hurt feelings.
“No, I’m sorry,” said Dan. “Perhaps I should have introduced myself properly from the outset, but I assumed you would know. It’s all on the website.”
Delilah was regretting not having read the small print. She was usually a discerning consumer and shopper, interrogating an item’s provenance, its ingredients, the inclusion of additives, researching reviews for appliances, comparing prices – and yet here she was about to part with thousands of dollars, and she didn’t even know what she didn’t know. Then she remembered she’d paid her non-refundable deposit and so vowed to herself to go through the website with a fine-tooth comb ahead of Seb’s delivery. There was a 24-hour customer service desk, that much she did remember reading, and she could contact them anytime with her questions. There was also an owners’ support club that she had laughed about when she saw it, but for which she was beginning to think she might be grateful.
“Well, I think that’s everything,” smiled Dan, turning the clipboard around and proffering his pen to Delilah.” I just need you to verify everything and give me a signature, and we’re all ready to create Sebastian for you. And a very fine specimen he sounds, too. Even I can’t wait to meet him,” he added.
The implications of having Sebastian in her life suddenly dawned on Delilah as she scrawled her initials on each page of the order, ending with a full signature on the final dotted line. If Dan countersigned, was the contract even binding, Delilah wondered, given his status.
As if he’d read her mind, Dan looked around, saying, “I just need my manager to sign this too,” whereupon a well-dressed older man appeared and took the clipboard from Dan, producing his own pen. He looked quickly through the pages, signed, and congratulated Delilah before walking away.
Considering the age of the manager, Delilah noted another fact she had failed to interrogate. Would HR2025/973, aka Sebastian, ever grow old? Did they replace him in increments of 5 years, or 10, or how did they manage that? So many questions and so few answers, but she imagined all would become apparent.
Five days earlier
The day had started as usual. Seb was up and dressed in the kitchen, making her coffee. She had learned that he didn’t eat or drink, which posed something of a problem when they were invited out for dinners, although he was able to ingest a small amount, which required a rigorous cleaning of the internal food reservoir as soon afterwards as possible.
This morning, Seb’s movements were stilted, and he failed to ask what she had planned for the day, which was most unlike him. Delilah asked him if everything was OK, although equanimity and good humour were the norm, so she didn’t expect a reply in the negative.
“It’s just you don’t seem to appreciate everything I do for you, and you treat me as if I’m a robot,” Seb said, turning and slamming down her cup.
“Er, that’s a little ironic, don’t you think?” laughed Delilah, “Since actually, Seb, that’s exactly what you are.”
“A robot with feelings. AI has come a long way, you know,” he told her. “Maybe a system shutdown will teach you,” at which point Seb remained immobile, staring open-eyed straight ahead, unresponsive.
Delilah pulled out the manual but realised that this particular malfunction needed to be referred back to the shop, and that’s how she found herself, sales contract in hand, arguing with the manager who may or may not have been human.
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