A short story about technology that I am not eager to adopt.
A jagged icicle clawed down my spine as my brain ceded control to the interface.
It wasn’t a complete surprise, there was some speculation about the sensation on the forums. Still, it was a bit…jarring. This is brilliant, I thought. It’s happening.
“Okay. It should be coming online now. Can you feel it?”
The uneasy technician had been installing a firmware update for the last twenty minutes. He apologized a few times along the way. “This really should have been done before the surgery. I flagged this for my supervisor, she will check the notes from the procedure and figure out what happened.”
I reassured him that I was not worried about it, though I can understand why he was concerned. I passed out a few times during the reboot. It’s to be expected, it’s certainly not his fault. This is going to change everything for me. I can’t screw this up.
I finally had a real shot to make my life better. More importantly, to make Katie’s life better.
I was already blowing it.
I started working as Mr. Brenton’s personal assistant about four months ago. He was a bit prickly, but things started off really well. I drove him to work, walked the dogs, picked up dry cleaning, and took a message or two over the phone. I got the job done. Sure, he would blow off steam now and then, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. You need to have thick skin if you want to make it to the top of the ladder.
Then I took over “administrative duties.” Scheduling. Booking vacations. Coordinating business travel. Creating itineraries. Booking more vacations. This stuff isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse. I missed a couple things and I got a talking to. Much needed obviously.
So I recommitted to the grind. I woke up earlier, I took more notes, and I downloaded a better task-managing app. I figured the key was to stick to a hustle schedule: wake up at 4 am to check emails and get the daily itinerary prepared, grab coffees by 4:30 and eat a quick muffin in the car, roll up to Mr. Brenton’s penthouse downtown by 5 and get him to work by 6 (he insisted on being the first person in the office every day, which I really respect), get him home around 8pm, get myself home by 9, and usually pass out around 11. I could usually get enough sleep, assuming Mr. Brenton didn’t need me to pick him up from an exclusive club in the middle of the night or drive one of his…guests…home. I thought I was finally on top of it. Then came the Monaco Grand Prix.
Long story short, I messed up the booking for his trip to Monte Carlo. Sometimes I mix up sixes and nines, and I guess the address of the hotel I booked was about a mile farther out from the race than Mr. Brenton wanted to be. He still got to see the Prix, but it was not a good look. It was a stupid mistake that should have got me fired (and it almost did). Mr. Brenton let me know in no uncertain terms that this kind of screwup will not be tolerated again. Rightfully so. Stupid mistake.
Since then, work had been bad. Mr. Brenton was watching every move I made like a hawk. He had a comment on every email I sent, every cup of coffee I brought, every booking I made.
“Why did you use that font? Do I need to double check this? I don’t want another Monte Carlo on my hands.”
I lost the man’s respect and I needed to earn it back. Nothing is given to you in this life. If you want to get to the top, you need to be 100% on your game 100% of the time. No excuses.
This chip is going to fix everything.
With CortexConnect I would be plugged in non-stop. Every email, every text, every itinerary, every single speck of information I could possibly need, automatically stored in my mind. No more mistakes.
Katie told me not to get the chip. She worries. “Do you know how many animals died testing this thing? It is going to melt your brain into soup. At least wait until the second generation!” Demand for the chip will be so high by the time the Gen2 rolls around that there is zero chance I will be able to afford it.
This wasn’t a speculative asset to invest in or a multi-level marketing program to buy into. This was sorely needed self improvement.
The fact is that Katie deserves better than I can be on my own.
I felt a soft clicking sensation within my thoughts. Closing my eyes, I could…perceive…that I had received a customer satisfaction survey from the hotel in Monaco. I smiled.
This is going to change our lives.