Soft Dystopias #3: Suspicious Offline

I'm sitting on a park bench in New York City. I'm without my phone. The breeze is delicate. There's not much noise. There's no one else outside. It's just me. And also the automated groundskeepers.

I let my mind wander. It's rare for me to go out, I thought. Most people stay home. Walking over here was a struggle. My legs were about to buckle. But now I'm here on the bench. And nothing else matters.

I feel the grace of God on my skin. It's not yet starting to rain. One small drop had hit me. The sun is still shining. I open my eyes. I take a look around. My appreciation is growing. I want to take a panorama. I'm without my phone.

I take a sweep anyway. The oak trees are massive. The sidewalks aren't cracked. They were just pressure washed. The paint on the bench isn't damaged. It looks perfectly new. The kid's playground is bigger than the jogging trails. There are no kids around. I go to check the time. I'm without my phone. It's sometime between 2 and 4 PM on a Saturday. My off days are Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. I work hard at my full time job. It keeps the lights on. It pays for my night guests. I work from home. It's stressful. It's good that I came out to take a break.

I see the iconic skyscrapers. No one uses them anymore. Everyone works from home. But the digital billboards are still active. I see the typical ads. Then I see a man's mugshot. I don't get a good look. I get distracted by the magic frog that's trying to sell me another auto-wife. I already have three.

But then I go back to the man on the billboard. It kind of looked like me. Brown hair, glasses, plump face, clean skin, hair cut to regulation, sharp nose. But it's fuzzy. It's far away. It sticks with me though. Maybe I have a celebrity look alike. They change often. I know most of them. I want to find out who the man is. I'm without my phone.

I fell asleep. There's still no one here. I need to get home. I have my guests coming soon. I start walking home. I see the skyscraper billboards again. All of them are the same man from before. All of them say, "MISSING MAN. BEWARE. YOUR CARETAKER HAS MORE INFO." I like my caretaker. It's strange having not talked to him for so long. 6 hours with no contact might be a new record for me. I wonder how he feels about it.

As I walk home, I stumble into one of the groundskeepers. I wave. It's good to be polite. It stops trimming the hedges. It stares at me. Behind the groundskeeper, the billboards change to "MISSING PERSON FOUND". The groundskeeper comes towards me. The machine extends into an autonomous pod car. I'm told to step in. I want to ask Larry what's going on. I'm without my phone.

I step in the white pod. A pre-recorded message plays. "You have been arrested for exceeding your allowable time off-grid of 2 hours. You have the right to remain silent and speak to your AI assistant."