Under Quota

Original published by The Weird and Whatnot in 2021.

The ad prompt appeared at the worst time. Dinner date, food just came. But the deadline loomed, and Robin needed to meet the quota, or the repos would come for her smart goggles. She blinked twice to accept. Text appeared, floating above Ben’s portobello raviolis.

“Have you heard about Bijon Smart Glasses? The only smart goggles you can control with your eyes.”

Ben’s eyes, a rich, honey brown, opened wide.

Robin forced herself to focus on the ad. “Choose from over thirty HUD options. Sync with other Bijon smart devices.”

Ben stood and took his wool peacoat off the back of his chair. 

Robin’s foot caught on her chair, and she nearly stumbled into Ben. If she couldn’t save the date, she could at least finish the ad, and for that she needed to keep him in range. “Cutting-edge VR software comes preloaded. Bijon Smart Goggles: Time to Truly See.”

The floating text vanished and she received credit. But not enough to meet her quota, of course. Unpredictable ads could not be relied upon to fund payments for top-of-the-line goggles. Robin knew that, but instead of making a cash payment she’d agreed to dinner with Ben. Now she’d probably ruined the date and risked the loss of her Bijons.

“Sorry—”

“No, no. I’m sorry.” Ben tossed some money on the table next to his uneaten pasta. “I completely forgot something I have to do. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

Yup. Ruined it.

#

Robin approached a man waiting to cross Market Street. “Excuse me, sir. Zayaku Hemorrhoidal Suppositories are currently on sale at—”

The man took off, face redder than the light that had stopped traffic. 

Heat rose in Robin’s own face as she ran after him. “—First Life Pharmacy on the corner of Market and—” She struggled to keep up. Too many hours in VR, not enough exercise. She shouted the last bit, “—Danvers, just a couple blocks ahead—” but too late.

Robin winced as the failure message appeared. The plan had been to hit the streets after dinner. Even with a head start in both time and ad credits thanks to her disastrous dinner date, Robin found herself running out of time.

Big surprise. Who depended upon ads to meet their quota right before a deadline?

The ads came without warning, without any discernible pattern. She could only wander, waiting for a prompt, as the number of people dwindled. The late-night fitness addicts were content to run on their treadmills, safe behind the receptionist that wouldn’t let Robin into the gym without a membership. She took a few steps into a supermarket before an employee pointed at a “No Smart Glasses” sign.

Robin took off her glasses. Injected acetate frames, high-definition lenses. She’d planned on something simple and ended up with top-of-the-line. The salesperson had been so convincing.

One minute left. Might as well enjoy them until the repos showed up. She slipped them back on and found an ad prompt waiting.

Robin spun around, already reading, “Wakige Antiperspirant Stick is tough on st—”

Onions and cat pee. Robin’s nose burnt with the scent wafting off of the man. Clothing soiled by sweat and other stains, he looked as if he had been living on the street, save for his Bijon Smart Glasses.

“—uh, stink, and not on skin, offering 48-hour odor protection with a clean, crisp scent.”

Credit. And just in time. The due date rolled forward a month, but the relief Robin expected didn’t come and her face flushed as she recalled the ad she had just read.

“I’m sorry, I don’t pick the ads.”

“Oh, I know.” The man tapped his glasses. “So, did you make it? Hey, got any cash? I heard the repos will take cash. I can pay you back. You don’t?”

The buzz of the repos sounded above. Three descended on wide metal wings and landed in a triangle formation around the man. Large round eyes above short, curved beaks stared out from their circular faces.

“Thirty seconds! I missed the deadline by thirty seconds!” said the smelly man.

The repos closed in, talons clacking on the concrete. A steel drawer slid out of one’s chest. “Please place your goggles in the basket,” emitted from below its beak.

The man tried to dart between two repos but ran smack into their spread wings. The third swooped in and pulled off his glasses. He leapt and tried to snatch his Bijons out of the rising repo’s talons.

“Sorry,” Robin said.

The man came at her, hands reaching for her face. Robin ducked and stepped out of the way.

“I need my VR,” the man shouted into the dirt.

Robin lifted her glasses to see him without the glasses’ HUD. Had she not met her quota, had she faced the repos, would she now be yelling at the earth? She’d chased Ben and his brown eyes away, accosted strangers. What was her plan when she got home, same as every night? Load up a VR program. How much did she need her VR?

“Hey look, maybe this is a good thing,” Robin said.

“Good thing? Good thing?” The man pounded his fists on the ground.

Robin backed away as he continued to mutter. Her stomach growled and she thought of the meal she’d left uneaten and the empty fridge waiting at home. No money left to buy anything to eat while the glasses on her face cost more than one month’s rent.

#

“Did you decide you didn’t like the Bijons?” Ben asked.

Robin’s new glasses could hardly be called smart. No VR, only one HUD.

“Not exactly.” Robin opened her fridge, admired the well-stocked shelves. “Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, well, I’m glad you weren’t mad about the way I left dinner that night. No, I’m fine, thanks. I’ve got a surprise, actually.”

Ben put on a pair of Bijon Smart Glasses over his honey brown eyes.

“You see, I left because you reminded me of a sale ending. Now, Robin, I know you’ve heard of Bijon Smart Glasses...”