The Gift
Joe 59 was fully charged up and preparing for the new day. While the city’s human inhabitants remained snuggled in their beds, he raced about the coffee shop completing one task after another: polishing the faux mahogany countertop, descaling the commercial-grade espresso machine, sweeping and mopping the checkered tile floor, shining the windows, topping off the soap dispensers in the restrooms, and brewing fresh cups of coffee one after another until the shop was infused with the strong, welcoming aroma of Java Joe’s special house blend.
As he worked, he often consulted the shop’s operating system to obtain sensor feedback or to activate various diagnostic checks. The autonomous mechanical shop manager and the shop’s OS functioned as an efficient team, but it wasn’t an equal partnership. While the literal-minded and inflexible OS had no more personality than a calculator, Joe 59 was capable of complex and subtle thought; he had been designed and built with curiosity and intelligence in order to provide the best possible service to Java Joe’s customers.
“Shop, what’s next on the agenda?” Joe 59 sang out.
The shop’s OS bypassed the speaker system and connected directly with Joe 59’s internal communications link.
THE SUGAR DISPENSER AT THE SELF-SERVICE BAR IS CURRENTLY 15% BELOW OPTIMAL CAPACITY AND REQUIRES REPLENESHING.
“Of course, of course,” chanted Joe 59, ducking into the storage room, where sealed, plastic containers of all the products necessary for a fully-operational Java Joe franchise were stacked neatly on metal shelves. Within minutes he had filled up the sugar dispenser, wiped down the self-service bar with an antiseptic cloth and replaced the sugar bin in the storage room.
THE BAKERY DELIVER BOT IS APPROACHING THE REAR ENTRANCE. E.T.A. IS 21 SECONDS, conveyed the OS.
“Thank you, Shop,” said Joe 59.
He sprang to the back door, opened it wide and chocked it. The single headlight of the driverless bot from the local bakery bounced toward him down the dark alley. As the bot rolled to a stop, Joe 59 dodged behind the vehicle, raised its back hatch and snatched up the large carton filled with the daily assortment of tarts, scones, buns, and chocolate-coated biscotti. Balancing the box expertly with one hand, he whisked the pastries inside and popped them into the glass case beneath the counter before they could cool. Then he was back in the storage room closing the alley door. The red taillight of the bot was just bobbing out of sight as the vehicle turned into the street.
