Robot Immigration (Get Inspired, week 12)

I hate robot immigration. Especially robots with ‘My name is Floki. Tell me how I can help you!’ written on their fronts in ten languages I recognise and several more that make my eyes ache when I stare at them too long. Extra-spectrum sight, gotta love it. Of course, some of that ache could be that ‘fresh out of coldsleep’ feeling.

I held up my ID level with where the thing’s scanner ought to be. “Citizen, travelling for business, origin Eta B III.”

“Please present your ID.” The perky tone would have gone much better with: ‘Here is a free coffee and a luxury upgrade!’ Sadly, that wasn’t my life. My life was a malfunctioning robot and a sleep hangover, most likely followed by a game of finding out which star system my luggage had ended up in.

I waved my ID slowly from side to side. “Bend over and present ID scanner,” I muttered under my breath. Unlike my ID, that it took notice of, and the entire section of floor I was standing on lit up red.

I sighed. It was a sad commentary on interstellar society that being rude was likely to get me past the ‘bot way quicker than my efforts to show it my ID.

I’m not entirely sure where this one came from. There have, of course, been a lot of stories in the news recently about immigration – so much so that the topic’s been hard to missĀ  That, and articles about jobs that are soon going to get automated. Given that I loathe having to kiss ass to get through security and border checkpoints whilst someone gets a lot more intimate with my person that I generally allow on a first date, I suspect I’d actually prefer robots. Hopefully, not malfunctioning ones.

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