Chapter 7 The Big Bad Love Machine

55.

Charlie had done six hours of writing and editing job applications then took a break because it was so miserable. He pulled open a drawer, then accidentally pulled the whole thing out.

‘Shit.’

Six months of rejected job applications had sprayed across the floor. And a can of beer fell out.

He left the rejected job applications on the floor, he’d pick them up later, then reached for the beer.

He cracked it open, and drank.

Dear Charlie, we regret to inform you that your recent job application has been rejected. We hope you understand. Sincerely Andy.

Dear Charlie, we regret to inform you, that your….

Dear Charlie, we regret.

…We regret…

…regret…

Four years ago

‘I’m a bit worried.’ said Charlie. His hands were tight around the wheel. He and Victoria were in the school parking lot. ‘What if I don’t get the job.’

‘Dad.’ said Victoria, ‘you’re really smart, you have tons of experience at the other schools, and you have a secret superpower. You actually want the job. 99% of teachers hate their jobs, you’re enthusiasm is going to show in you’re interview, and they’re gunna be like damn, why is this guy so cool, should I be praying to him, I should probably be praying to him right now. And then they’ll get on their knees and worship you.’

‘Huh.‘ said Charlie. ‘Everything you said is bullshit.’ 

‘Dad you’re missing the point, what I’m trying to say is I’m really looking forward to having you as a teacher.’ Victoria kissed him on the cheek. ‘I love you dad.’

‘Okay,‘ he said. ‘I love you too.’

She got out the car.

He got out the car.

The interviewer, ‘why do you want this job?’

The office was a little claustrophobic.

‘Um, well, I just really love the english language, to be honest, I want kids to be excited about it as I am.’

‘Spread the disease, ey? Teaching is a pyramid scheme. The only thing this school has ever produced, is more teachers.’

‘I’m sure you’re hyperbolizing.’

‘Yeah,’ said the interviewer. ‘Says here you like to write. Anything I’ve heard of?’ 

Charlie scratched the back of his head, frowned. ‘Not, really no.’

‘Ah. That’s a shame.’ said the interviewer. ‘I adore H.P Lovecraft, do you?’

‘Uh, sure yeah, I love H.P Lovecraft.’ whoever he is.

‘He was a horrible racist. I hope you’re not a racist, Charlie, we can’t have that in our school.’

‘Oh god no.’ said Charlie. ‘I hate H.P Lovecraft... I mean...’ what’s the right thing to say, how the fuck do I get out of this grave.

‘If you admit you’re racist I’ll give you the job.’

‘Sir...’ said Charlie. ‘I... can’t do that.’

The interviewer scowled.

Charlie sighed.

The interviewer got up and shook his hand.

‘Congratulations, you passed the test.’ said the interviewer. ‘You didn’t abandon your principles to curry favor, we need more people like you in this dark and cruel world.’

‘Right.’ said Charlie. his hand is so sweaty, oh my god this is disgusting.

Charlie was picking up his daughter from the gate.

‘Did you get it?’

‘I did.’

‘Fuck yes.’ said Victoria. ‘ha, ha, oh dad, I’m so happy for you.’

‘Thank you.’ he said. ‘I’m happy too.’

‘We should like celebrate or something.’

‘Um... movie night?’

‘Disney movie?’

‘A crappy reboot of a beloved classic.’

‘That’s the one.’

They watched the lion king, and both agreed it was shit, they loved it.

Classroom, end of lesson.

‘Hey, Eric, can you stay behind after class please?’ asked Charlie Brittleson.

‘You’re fucked.’ said one friend.

Eric, fourteen years old, stayed behind and wandered up to the desk.

‘Am I in trouble?’

‘Of course not. I just noticed that you didn’t do very well on the last assignment. I was wondering if you’d like some help?’

‘Not really.’

‘Okay, let me rephrase that, you really need some help if you’re going to pass this grade. I do tutorials on tuesdays after school if you’d like to join us?’

‘Okay.’

Tuesday, after school there were five pupils doing homework, while Charlie was helping Eric through the questions.

‘Okay, so what do you think the morale of the story is?’ asked Charlie.

‘Can I wear your glasses?’

‘Uh,’ said Charlie. ‘If I let you wear my glasses, will you answer the question?’

Eric nodded.

Charlie passed over his glasses.

Eric put them on.

‘Woah,’ said Eric. ‘Everythings blurry now.’

‘Well you’re not visually impaired so.... Anyway,’ Charlie tap-tapped the paper. ‘Morale of the story?’ Eric looked down at the paper. ‘King Midas accidentally turns his daughter into a gold statue, then nearly starves to death when his food turns to precious metals, so the morale is..?’

‘Wishes are dangerous?”

‘Absolutely.’ said Charlie. ‘And if you wanted bonus marks?’

‘Um... I don’t know.’

‘Begins with a “g”? Same as a christmas carol? Don’t be dot, dot, dot.’

‘I’m sorry, I still don’t know.’

‘That’s fine. Okay, I’m gunna teach you a trick that got me through all my exams. I’m the only person on the planet that knows this. Y’ready?’

Eric nodded.

‘The morale of every story ever, is “don’t be greedy.”’

For the first time in his life, Eric received a B+.

Charlie even got a snow globe as a token of his appreciation.

‘Thank you, very much, mister B.’

‘No worries. If you ever need help, just come to me.’

At home Charlie was marking papers on the couch, with a cup of tea, when he heard a smash from the kitchen.

‘Shit.’ said Victoria.

Charlie put down his cup of tea, and entered the kitchen, immediately cutting his foot open on broken glass.

‘Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.’ he said, hopping up and down on one foot.

Victoria whack-a-moled out from under the sink.

‘Oh my god, dad, I’m so sorry. I was just about to clean it up.’

‘No, no, no, it’s fine, just - jesus christ this hurts. I am completely fine, just... give me some time to bleed.’

‘I’ll get you a plaster.’

‘I’d be so grateful.’

He got a smiley face stamped over his gaping paper cut.

‘Dad, this might be a bad time to ask, but could I have some help with my homework?’

‘Of course, I’d love to.’

In the staff room.

‘Fuck, I hate kids.’ said Mister Stubble, shoulders hunched as he drank his paper cup coffee.

‘Why are you a teacher again?’ asked Charlie.

‘Money.’ said Mister Stubble. ‘The moneys good.’ then he looked at Charlie. ‘Hey, i’m supposed to be hosting a creative writing club, but I can’t be bothered, wanna take it for me.’

‘A thousand times yes.’

Club.

‘Okay club, this week’s theme is robots, please write me a story about robots and then we’ll read them out at the end of the session.’

While the kids were writing on their laptops, Charlie was writing on his desk top computer.

He was having fun for about ten minutes, when one of the kids sent him a thirty page, short story about robots.

‘Who just sent this?’ asked Charlie.

Boy at the back of the class raised a hand. ‘I did.’

‘You wrote thirty pages in ten minutes?’

‘Yeah.’ said the kid. ‘I mean, I used AndyGPT.’

‘What’s AndyGPT?’

‘It’s like a computer program that writes stories.’

‘A computer wrote this?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is it okay if I read it?’

‘That’s why I sent it to you, yeah.’

Charlie read the story for the next thirty minutes, then sent the kid an email.

Boring.

Any paragraph that hasn’t been stolen from Isaac Assimov is stolen from a tedious instruction manual.

Please put some effort in next time.

2024 nothing happened.

2025 the sun turned to cancer.

Over a long stretch of mahogony desk (coffin wood, thought Charlie), sat a nervous fat man, who’d just informed Charlie of his fate.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Charlie.

‘We’re giving you till the end of the year, you’ll get full severance pay, of course, and we’re so sorry to be doing this to you, but... it’s just the way things are.’

‘I’m being replaced by an app?’

‘“Replaced” is such... well it’s a very ugly word, you can’t go round using words like that or you’ll get depressed.’

‘What word would you use?’

The nervous fat man loosened his tie. ‘That’s beside the point, Charlie and you know it. Look... I really hate to be doing this to you.’

‘Then don’t do it.’

‘We have to. We just can’t afford to employ humans anymore. It’s too expensive. You cost twenty eight thousand dollars a year, every single year we have to pay you. It’s just not economically feasible anymore. BlueAI is renting out it’s teaching software for two hundred and forty dollars a year. We’d be crazy to-’

‘The students grades will go to shit.’

‘We’re doing this for the children, Charlie. The SuperTeacher app, can give each child full time, one-on-one tutoring, and can personalize its teaching style to meet each students individual needs. It knows all subjects inside out, has infinite patience and... well to be frank with you, not a single child without learning difficulties has recieved less than an A plus, under the super teacher’s tutelage.’

‘So... that’s it then.’

‘Unfortunately yes. We hope you understand this wasn’t an easy decision for us to make.’

Charlie was struggling to breathe in the bathroom cubicle. He was pacing back and forth. ‘Calm down.’ he said. ‘Just calm down.’

He felt like his heart was cracking his ribcage with each thump.

He was mildly worried about having a heart attack and dying in the bathroom.

‘Shut up.’ he said.

Welcome to the end, Charlie.

‘SHUT UP!’

‘Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?’ yelled another teacher.

‘I’m...’ Charlie stuttered. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize anybody else was in here.’

‘Get a fucking grip, Charlie, Jesus.’

Charlie heard the door open and close.

He was teaching class.

While he was writing on the whiteboard, there was a whisper behind him.

Charlie turned his head.

‘Who’s speaking during class?’

Eric looked ashamed and nervously raised his hand.

‘Okay,’ continued Charlie. ‘You need to shut the fuck up, while I’m teaching. Do you understand that, you fucking moron? Do you?’

Eric suddenly looked terrified.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, sir.’

In the staff room.

‘And so,’ said Mr Stubble. ‘I’m pulling in the fish. And I say it has tits!’

‘Oh my god, you’re not funny.’ said Charlie. ‘Do you understand that, you boring old cunt. Nobody likes you.’

Complete silence.

‘Oh we were all thinking it.’ said Charlie.

In the kitchen.

‘Victoria, the fucking dishes. Why is there a shit-smeared junkyard in the sink, why the fuck is it my job, to clean up after your mess.’

‘I’m sorry, dad.’ said Victoria as she rushed to the sink, and rapidly started cleaning.

‘Don’t be sorry, just clean the fucking dishes.’

Then it was present day.

Charlie was alone.

He was in the kitchen, in one hand he was eating toast over the sink, in the other he was using a penny to scratch at a lottery ticket.

He’d had to move house, sold his car, and was living on benefits. He wrote and edited job applications, for eight hours a day, 9 to 5.

The door to the hallway opened behind him. He stopped scratching.

‘Oh, sorry, dad.‘ said Victoria. ‘I didn’t realize you were still eating.‘

‘Don’t apologize, it’s fine.‘ Charlie suddenly felt vulgar for not having a plate.

‘When do you think you’ll be done?‘

‘Um, soon. Give me five minutes.‘

‘Okay,‘ Victoria was about to leave.

‘Vickie.‘ Victoria paused. ‘I know this is gunna sound weird, but... maybe we could eat together? Might be more efficient, if we could share the kitchen.‘

‘Oh, it’s okay, dad.’ said Victoria. ‘I know you like being alone.‘

Beat.

‘Yeah.‘ said Charlie. ‘I like being alone.‘

Victoria made a half-smile and left.

It took a few minutes, but Charlie finished his toast. 

Needless to say, he didn’t win the lottery.   

***

Chapter 8