My New PDA
I was at my run-down apartment waiting for a new PDA. It was dark, moist and unkempt – like my career. I was – still am – a freelance graphic designer, and with little luck in finding neither permanent job nor any contracts. People said that I had a degree of talent, but somehow I had trouble making myself known. I tried to improve myself in various ways, even starting to training martial arts to increase my focus and discipline, but I couldn't afford it and eventually I fluked out.
I was two weeks behind the deadline of illustrating a brochure, and as I calculated the rates and the penalty, it became apparent that I would afford the rent for the flat – and given that it was a shithole, why even try. I also had some projects on the backburner, but since I'd end up on streets sooner or later, so I'd rather browse internet and read shitty porn stories. And among these I spotted an ad – "our product will make you disciplined and motivated in no time". I was intrigued. If you can't trust a pop-up add on a porn forum, who can you trust? The company promised a revolutionary new device that could increase my productivity, help to create good habits and get rid of the bad ones… but to be fair, I was so mesmerized by the beautiful babes on their website, that I paid little attention to the product itself. The reviews on the website were enthusiastic, so I bit the bullet and ordered one. Only a couple of days later I realized that I don't know what the device actually looked like. I guess even if it was a scam, it would teach my a valuable lesson nonetheless; but a couple of days later, they contacted me and told to be present in my flat at 4 PM. I don't often go out, even when I can afford it, so there was no problem with that.
I didn't clean my flat – what would be the point, for a delivery man? I checked my watch, and just as the seconds changed, I heard knocking on the door. I opened it to find a large cardboard box that barely fit inside the door. I signed the form, and tried to reel the box in. Why was this so heavy? I reached for my pocket knife and opened the box. Inside, buried among the Styrofoam chips, was a middle-aged, beautiful woman with a mane of fiery, auburn hair (later I noticed that they were elegantly dyed grey near her temples). She was dressed in a black leather suit, and as I lifted her out I felt tough, muscular shapely body. She was cold, but I sensed the artificial skin. That was a fembot, a machine.
So this was this PDA? If that was it… her… I guess it was a bargain for a fembot, and I could see how having an android assistant would improve my life. She could clean and cook while I'd work. I browsed the manual (she also came with two large suitcases) and activated the bot. She stretched her arms to sides… smashing the flimsy cardboard box, causing the (remaining) contents to spill on the floor. In one fluid move, she jumped onto 7 inch-tall heels of her black, thigh-length leather shoes, and stared at me.
"Are you David?", she said in a low voice, while flicking of specks of dirt and Styrofoam off her imposing leather costume.
"Er… yes?"
"Pleased to meet you. My name is Mrs Miranda Hartford, and I am your new PDA. I will help you achieve you goals and motivate you to work effectively. To begin, you need to sign these documents." From her purse she pulled out a thick booklet of a contract. I started to skim it, but in the end I signed it in the marked spots. She grinned with her pearly white teeth.
"Very well. You have agreed to the corrective disciplinary regimen. We shall start with the personal training. You need to lick the travelling dust off my shoes."