A new job

The call came when I wasn’t expecting it anymore. I had sent my resume everywhere I could think of. I had been more selective at first, but since the necessities of life are not free, my high principles had waned, and I had gradually lowered my standards.

“Yes, hello?”

A strange voice, a bit robotic and distant, addressed me:

“Are you David Pepin?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Are you still interested in the job at Turing Life?”

“Of course I am!”

“You start tomorrow morning.”

“…”

“Show up at 875 Industrial Blvd, at 8am. Be punctual.”

And the strange voice hung up without waiting for an answer.

Turing Life…

The ad had intrigued me:

“LOOKING FOR CANDIDATES WITH EXCEPTIONAL ABILITIES

A UNIQUE AND UNFORGETTABLE EXPERIENCE

ATTRACTIVE SALARY, MINIMAL EFFORT”.

I read the first line as a challenge, so I thought to myself, “Don’t be modest! Good pay, little effort, why not?”

Since I had no indication of the exact nature of the job, I was a bit confused when it came time to choose how I was going to dress. After thinking about it, in a fit of conformity, I figured that people of “exceptional ability” must surely dress “clean”: clean pants, clean shirt, and clean shoes. No ties, because I can’t stand them, but my best clothes.

That night, I went to bed with a sense of accomplishment: the next day, I would finally have a job!

* * *

The Turing Life offices were located in a section of the industrial park that I didn’t know. It was a big, gray, austere, futuristic building.

The logo was imposing, authoritative: the T and the L, intertwined, seemed to swallow a billion individual dots, connected in networks.

I arrived at the door at the same time as another candidate.

We looked at each other with the uneasiness of people who know they will be competing against each other, and who don’t really want to. I started the conversation, shyly:

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Are you here for the job too?”

“Yes.”

I hesitated for a few moments, before asking him:

“Um, do you know why we’re here? I mean, what are we really going to be doing?”

“I have no idea… The ad made me smile, so I applied. My name is Étienne,” he said, holding out his hand.

“David.”

As we walked through the doors, we were struck by the multitude of screens that lined the walls.

Continuous news.

Images of “nature” straight out of a BBC documentary (which I must have had seen on Discovery channel).

Images of security cameras scanning the entrance of the building, from where we came from.

Geometric shapes of all kinds.

Complex equations that were solved, line by line.

A very strange picture.

Étienne and I noticed at the same time the chairs along the wall. Two young women, who looked to be the same age as us, were also waiting.

We sat down without exchanging a word.

After a few minutes, we heard a diffuse sound, difficult to identify, that was slowly getting louder. Then the doors opened, and what seemed to be a robot appeared.

An android.

I was stunned: an android?

Cold, but surprisingly human, it approached us with a smile.

“Hello. Welcome to Turing Life.”

The voice was the same as the one that spoke to me on the phone.

“Before we begin, we are going to run some tests. In order to continue your experience here, you will need to demonstrate exceptional abilities. Please follow me.”

And he turned around, waving at us.

We obediently followed the android, almost hypnotized. After walking down a long corridor, our host stopped in front of a door without a handle. The door opened on its own, and he motioned for us to enter, “Please wait in the room, we will be with you shortly.”

We entered without talking.

Inside were four desks, all white, four chairs, also white, and four electronic tablets, still white.

When no one seemed to be coming, I decided to talk to my neighbor:

“Hi, I’m David.”

“I’m Julie.”

“And I’m Marjolaine,” said the other girl, with a broad smile and an almost suspicious enthusiasm.

Étienne remained silent.

I resumed the conversation, talking to no one in particular:

“Quite a special place, don’t you think”, I said nervously?

My three comrades of fortune nodded, and we stopped talking.

The more the time passed, the more I felt like I was being spied on. They must have put a camera and microphones to observe us.

An android finally entered.

“Open the tablet in front of you. The password is the four digits of your date of birth: the day, followed by the month.”

How did they know our birthdays? And how did they know where each of us would sit? Maybe there really was a camera, and they had changed the password remotely?

The next three hours were grueling: a whole battery of tests, quizzes, on everything from math to music to general knowledge to spatial skills. Then physical tests of all kinds. A real marathon.

At the very end, the android (the same one? I couldn’t say for sure) entered the room:

“Étienne and Marjolaine, this is where your journey ends. We will send you $200 by email for the inconvenience. My colleague will escort you to the exit.”

Another android, in every way similar, appeared in the doorway. He said, still in the same voice:

“If you’ll follow me.”

I barely had time to express my sorrow for the fate of my new comrades when the first android said:

“Julie and David, congratulations. You have achieved satisfactory results. To continue the adventure, please open the contract on your tablet. Here are the main points.”

And he went into a long explanation that was far too technical for me to understand.

Basically, we were offered to be paid handsomely, housed and fed. We could go about our business as we pleased. It was like a leisure paradise: we could spend our time playing games, or writing a thesis, or composing music, anything.

It seemed too good to be true.

On the other hand, everything we did would be monitored at all times: cameras, microphones, sensors on us, on our clothes, on objects, everywhere.

The objective was to collect as much data as possible, using the best possible subjects. And thus develop the best machines, able to compete with the best that humanity had to offer.

We didn’t have to worry about all this data collection: it would all be analyzed by machines, not humans. Our privacy would be protected.

”You can do whatever you want in your privacy, without fear of judgment”, he said, with a reassuring wink.

Julie and I looked at each other for a moment, a little stunned by the offer. We then turned our attention to the screen.

What did I have to lose?

I signed up on the touch screen.

“Welcome to the Turing Life family!”

* * *

The android guided us to the courtyard, which was much larger than I had imagined.

“I’ll show you to your quarters. Follow me.”

As we made our way to the building at the end of the courtyard, we passed several other buildings: the library, the gym, the music studio, the video game room, the movie theater. Everything to live a busy life.

We passed dozens of other young people, beautiful, smiling, happy.

They all wore similar clothes.

All had the same blissful, satisfied smile.

Everything was beautiful, clean, immaculate.

Everything was in order, in its place.

Everything was perfect.

A new android introduced me to my new room. The lights, television and curtains were operated by voice commands. The walls also served as touch screens that could project whatever you wanted - mood pictures, movies, video games, anything.

He then showed me the closet: it contained clothes similar to the ones I had just seen on the other “exceptional” subjects.

“Just put your dirty laundry in this compartment, and it will come back to you a few hours later, washed and folded. For meals, you can order and eat here, of course, and there’s a restaurant that can prepare whatever you want. And a pub, if you prefer that atmosphere.”

With the android gone, I sat down on the bed, grinning from ear to ear.

Getting paid to do what I want, when I want… the dream! I thought of all the hours I could spend perfecting my guitar playing, getting in shape, learning to play the piano, finally reading Marcel Proust, becoming a BBQ master, writing the thesis I never wrote on literature and ideology… Really, I was so lucky.

Then slowly, insidiously, my smile began to fade.

From the depths of my core came a dull anxiety.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

I ran back outside, and snagged the first android I saw:

“Excuse me, excuse me, I forgot something important.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I forgot to ask you… I forgot to ask how to get out”, I said, gasping for breath.

He looked at me with robotic incomprehension.

“I don’t quite understand your question, sir.”

“I want to know what I have to do to get out of here for a few days, to go see my family, to go on vacation.”

The same blank look.

“I still don’t understand.”

”I… I…”

“Good day, sir.”

And I suddenly realized with horror that I would be here today.

And tomorrow.

And the day after tomorrow.

And the day after that.

For the rest of my life.