Modern Life

MODERN LIFE

The neighbours have parked on my roof again. They’re apologetic but say it’s unavoidable. Their son is home from Mars for the weekend, and his galactic mini cruiser is up there.

I’m fed up with modern living. I find myself wondering what it was like three hundred years ago when all you had to worry about was contracting some kind of pox. Now I’m constantly anxious. I worry our food replicator might break down out of warranty, or we’ll have a nuclear leak from our home heating system. And then, of course, there’s the risk of conflict with the neighbours over parking.

‘You worry too much,’ says Andromeda.

I call her Ann. I think Andromeda sounds pretentious, but then I’m called Megabyte. What were my parents thinking?

‘I’ve got a lot to worry about,’ I tell my wife, and she sighs.

‘I’m not sure your therapy sessions are working, and they cost a fortune.’

‘I know,’ I say, ‘and he keeps asking me about my childhood.’

Ann thinks that’s pointless and she’s right. I was lab grown. My parents wanted a teenager, so I was born aged thirteen. I didn’t have a childhood to be messed up.

‘Maybe I’ll buy a self-help book,’ I say.

Ann frowns. ‘Do you know how many crypto an actual book costs, you Luddite? Use a holo download onto the wall like the rest of us.’ Then she switches on the infotainment system news.

This only adds to my depression. The retirement age is being raised to ninety-five. Polar bears are suffering sunburn, and Venice is the new Atlantis.

They never finish the news with anything positive anymore. No talking dogs, children who can impersonate seals, or one-hundred and twenty-five-year-olds getting a special message from the president. There are people who are upset we have a non-binary head of state now, but I don’t mind. I think the diamond tiara looks a billion crypto with the military dress uniform and stilettoes.

I put on my anti-pollution mask and factor three-hundred sunscreen to head out into the garden. The artificial plants look colourful, and the comforting buzz of robot bees distracts me. But next door’s cat has done its business on my lawn, and I wish I had an automatic laser poop clearer.

‘Hey, Meg.’ My neighbour, Conon, calls over the opaque forcefield fence between our gardens.

‘It’s Megabyte.’

He nods. ‘Sure. Look, I’m sorry about your roof again. Parking’s a nightmare round here, isn’t it?’

‘Life’s a nightmare,’ I say and, before I know it, he switches on the jet streamers in his boots and flies over the fence.

‘Meg,’ he says, ‘you sound really down, man.’

‘I am.’

‘Anything I can do?’

‘Stop parking on my roof?’

He smiles. ‘Sure, but anything else? Maybe let me take you for a beer or something?’

I panic for a moment and look to see if any surveillance drones are within earshot.

‘Alcohol is against the law,’ I whisper, while covering my mouth with my hand in case there’s a lipreader satellite passing over.

My neighbour grins. ‘Illegal is why it’s good fun. I know a place that still does a twenty-first century beer.’

‘Really?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Look, I’ll get the boy to move the Constellation off your roof, then we’ll go and have a few drinks. Cheer you up.’

I’ve seen old movies with people in what they called bars. They always looked so happy, but history tells us they ban anything that makes people happy eventually.

‘What’ll I tell Ann?’ I ask.

He shrugs. ‘Say we’re going for a sub-atomic detox at the municipal health facility.’

‘Lie to her?’

‘Lie to her,’ he agrees.

An hour later we’re in an underground bar drinking something called Bud and my neighbour is introducing me to the game of bowling No technical propulsion system – you just throw them. Amazing.

The bartender refills our glasses, and I hand him significantly more crypto than it is for two revitalising free trade smoothies at the health lab Ann and I go to for a night out.

‘Another game?’ suggests Conon, but I want to have a look around.

There are people playing a game using little wooden figures on a chequered board. They tell me it’s chess. A couple of tables away four men and a woman are playing something called poker. This looks crazy complicated with dozens of cards that have symbols or pictures on them. And every couple of minutes one of the players whoops and picks up more crypto than I earn in a month.

In the corner there’s something called a jukebox. It plays music from centuries ago and it can’t be worked by voice command. You have to put a coin in; like the ones you see in museums. Crazy. I like the music from a guy called Bruce Springstein who can’t have dreamed people would still be listening to him today.

This place is brilliant. Everyone looks happy, just like in the old movies, and after three Buds I understand why the authorities banned alcohol years ago. The bartender suggests he make me a coffee. Can you believe it? Actual coffee; another banned substance.

Conon still has to steady me when we leave, and we stroll around the solar panel park to sober up before we get an autobot taxi home.

‘So, did you enjoy that?’ he asks.

‘Oh, yes, I loved it.’

He nods. ‘So maybe we’ll go again some time?’

Even though my mind is still a little foggy from the beer, I’ve already worked out if I cancel my therapy sessions, I can use the money I save to buy more beer. I can put coins in the jukebox, ask to play a round of cards, or just sit and absorb the atmosphere of the bar. I think I’ve found my happy place, where technology barely exists. People say you shouldn’t live in the past, but maybe there are things we should never have left behind.