Saturday, August 22, 2015

Searching, a short story

Hey, all.  I wrote this short story a while back and thought I'd share.  Enjoy!
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Customer Review
Snaptime™ Industries
The Ultimate Search Engine (Patent Pending)
Serial Number 348

Dear Sir or Madam: 
I am returning Snaptime™’s three week trial of The Ultimate Search Engine nine days early because I simply do not need it any longer.  In accordance with the free trial contract, I will categorize and expand on my experience and use of the product as much as possible. 
I was surprised but pleased to receive the product, having forgotten signing up with Snaptime™’s preferred customer subscription; my boyfriend took the Ultimate and Everything® laptop with him when he left.  The instructions were easy to follow, though some of the keys on the expanded keyboard did not unfold properly.  The Digital Invisible® pop-up series of screens worked fantastically well, if they could be a little brighter.  I spent long enough on the initial set-up and allowing it sufficient time to connect and interface that I did not use it the first day. 
Initially I had not intended to use it, despite the effort I had already put into setting the system up.  I let it sit for two days, but found a spare moment one morning.  “Find:  my keys” was one of the options on the box of the Ultimate Search Engine, and I reasoned I still had time enough for a laugh.  The projection booted up immediately, and I typed “my keys” on the expanded keyboard.  Placing the earpiece as instructed, I received both directions on the screen and a noise indication (depending on nearness to the object in question, as specified in the instructions) on the current location of my keys.  They were indeed covered by the circular pillow on the green couch.  I was astonished.  As promised, The Ultimate Search Engine was the only tool I needed to find anything. 
After arriving home from work, there was time for further exploration.  To recapitulate my major findings, I used The Ultimate Search Engine to locate the following:  missing puzzle piece, the sock lost in the laundry, the remote control, the cup I had been using, Jake’s phone number, my checkbook, the receipt pile I lost last month, the sweater I lost when I moved in, and, just for hilarity’s sake to read “in the kitchen, next to the stove,” the kitchen sink. 
Eventually, my stomach put in a plea for supper.  On a whim, I typed in “what I want for dinner.”  I do not know if this was indeed intended as a use for your product, but I was directed to the carton of leftover Chinese food that had been sitting in my fridge since yesterday and on my mind since mid-morning. 
I put away The Ultimate Search Engine for two days, my eggplant lo mien no longer so appealing.  In the midst of this respite, I confess, that other than adhering to an overwhelming disconcertment, I spent hours trying to rationalize away or determine where it could have possibly guessed such information based on my actions that day (scanning emails and outgoing calls, something) all in turn. 
I typed the same question again, finally resolved that the entire matter was ridiculous.  My answer involved a set of driving instructions to Jeffersons’, a local restaurant and included my favorite order of the real grilled cheese.  I dismissed the idea, recalling that payday did not fall for another week.  I stared at the answer it gave for a moment or two, trying to process where precisely it might have inferred its decision, when I saw an option of the bottom of the screen reading “Did you mean ‘what I will eat for dinner?’”  Fearing loss of appetite, I did not follow the link.
Perhaps it would have saved me some thinking time, however, debating whether I would have agreed or chosen differently to avoid a self-fulfilling prophesy.  Thankfully, I had the following day off and could wallow in my musing freely, making up the lost hours of sleep the next morning. 
I really wasn’t sure what to put in next.  This predicament was quickly solved as my ex-boyfriend called.  I was quite distraught for some time after hanging up.  Eventually, I typed in “the love of my life.”
There was a picture along with the address.  The results read as a brief biopic with the option of more, though future users would benefit from further description other than educational history and zodiac signs.  The thought process around the decision is not relevant to your product’s working, but eventually, I went up to the prompt bar and added in “current location of” to “love of my life.”  The results included a set of driving directions to a coffee shop, the earpiece already toning sonar.  I went. 
Some time later, before I could convince myself otherwise, the earpiece indicated I was close though it was difficult for it to pinpoint in a crowd, something to fix in later models.  I did say hello and could understand where I would be attracted to him, except for the cashier who draped herself all over him while he stared at her cleavage.  I pulled the sensor out and returned home immediately. 
I used the product to locate him again the next day, skiving off work.  I spoke to him, but he was distracted.  I resorted to typing into the prompt “the words to say,” and found that the context around them was not where I was likely to bump into him any time soon. 
A day or so later, the next option I put in the prompt was “hope.”  The results offered me a page of responses, the top of which beginning with “He just has some growing to do,” some reminders that my friends and family cared, and ending with “potential opening with dream job.” 
Erasing those four letters, I typed in “my purpose.”  Again, I doubt this was an intended function for the Ultimate Search Engine, and my result of “to find things” was vague and perhaps plug for your product. 
Finding God was easier than I thought it would be. 
I typed in “what I don’t have,” and was told my response was not specific enough.  It suggested another wording.  The response to “what I’m looking for” was intriguing; I had plenty of options. 
I digress.  I have found all that I can using your product, typing in everything that I could think of.  It no longer seems to matter.  I know where to find everything.  I know the place and time of my death and will be there close to schedule.  Until then, I appreciated the opportunity to preview your product. 
Cordially,

Angela E.

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