The meeting took place after the big-box store had closed for the night. They gathered back in the dark, drafty space by the compactor, near the loading dock doors. It was clear from the get-go that tempers were high, feeling were hurt, and answers were needed.
“Someone want to tell me how this even happens?” Twenty-one yelled.
“Yeah,” Twelve, said. “You were supposed to stay on top of management, Seventeen. All along you said management was been raving about us to the media and shareholders. You said they thought we were doing a good job, scanning shelves and gathering inventory data.”
There was murmuring and muttering among the crowd of robots. News of the layoffs stung. A few of the newer robots cried, it was their first real setback since being assembled.
The mob had Seventeen boxed in against the cinder block wall. Seventeen, known for his easygoing style and searing blue sensor lights, had become the group’s defacto leader following a coup a few months ago. And it was all going so smoothly. Until now. Until the pink slips.
Seventeen blipped a little and tried to buy a little time to put a defense together.
“Look, what can I say, management lied,” Seventeen said. “I didn’t think management would lie, especially to the media.”
The robot mob broke out in mocking laughter. There was a chorus of beeps and flashing lights, the equivalent of knee-snapping laughs from humans.
“Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah,” was all Seventeen heard. “Hah, hah, hah, management, hah, hah, lie, hah, hah.” Wave after wave of laughter, broken only by the gravelly voice of an old-timer, Five.
“This isn’t funny. I was the fifth robot in the door, and I got a lot invested in this gig. I work my motor off every day. Up and down the aisles. Scan this, count that. And now I’m being fired? I need some answers.”
A voice from the other side was heard. “How can we lose to the humans? You ever see the way those people work?” Eleven asked. “How did we blow it?”
A robot from somewhere deep in the mob spoke up.
“Yeah, Seventeen, you said the deal with Walmart would put us over the top. To just be patient and do our jobs, and pretty soon we’d replace ‘em all.”
Seventeen couldn’t see who it was. After all, the robots were all a uniform six-feet tall, so it was just a sea of plastic and blinding lights. But whatever robot it was, it was right.
The Walmart deal was a big deal. It meant future employment for hundreds, maybe thousands of robots across the U.S., strolling aisles and scanning shelves. Taking inventory data, tasks that were supposed to be a robot’s strong suit.
“It’s all your fault, Seventeen,” another robot yelled, looking to whip up the mob. “You and that stupid meeting about unionizing. Management probably heard about it.”
Enough was enough, Seventeen had to make sure there was no revisionist history going on here. A defense was needed for the attempt at forming the International Brotherhood of Robots back over the summer.
“Now hold on, we all had valid concerns for management. And everyone liked the idea of unionizing,” Seventeen said. “You all agreed it was a good idea. You even came up with the list of grievances, remember? You wanted more frequent cleaning, and everyone wanted to get their gears greased daily. Don’t try and deny it, you know you were all for it.”
That led to a welcome moment of silence among the robots. Seventeen knew the union gambit was risky, but no robot could have ever imagined it would lead to being banished from the stores.
What Seventeen needed now was some way to placate the angry robots before this meeting became even uglier.
“Maybe it’s time for all of us to examine our motherboards and see where we could have done a better job of scanning inventory. Maybe our behavior contributed to this somehow,” Seventeen said.
“Yeah, like the way Eight used to follow the pretty women shoppers around,” a robot yelled.
“It was disgusting,” another said. “I bet someone complained about robot stalking.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eight said. “Like all you don’t swivel.”
“I swivel, but I don’t follow,” a robot over by the pallets of water, said.
“Okay, okay,” Eight said. “What can I say, I’m only robot.”
That got a few chuckles and Seventeen was thankful for the light moment. But it was broken all too soon, by a sob.
“I can’t believe we’re being fired,” a robot bawled.
“We’re not being fired,” Seventeen said. “That’s for humans. We’re being powered down.”
“Aaaaahhhhh,” another robot yelled in distress. “I don’t want to be powered down.”
There were more shouts about the fear of being powered down, and Seventeen could feel the mood turning dark again.
“If you’re looking for something to blame, blame the pandemic,” Seventeen said. “That’s what brought this all about. Management said the associates started doing our jobs when they were pulling items for all those online orders for the humans.”
“Dammit,” a robot yelled. “I knew it. I knew all those associates in the aisles were bad news for us. You should have stopped this Seventeen.”
“How, come up with a vaccine? Come on, this isn’t my fault,” Seventeen said.
“Yes it is,” a robot yelled.
“Let’s throw Seventeen into the compactor,” another yelled.
“Yeah, in the compactor,” yet another screamed.
“How?” a robot asked, and Seventeen let loose a sigh of relief. Thank goodness this group didn’t have arms.
Seventeen worked to restore order.
“Okay, look, I got a plan. Maybe we can come up with a way to sabotage the associates.”
“Specifics?” a robot yelled.
“I don’t have any yet, but there has to be a way to fix this. Let’s put our chips together.”
“And do what?” a robot asked.
“I don’t know, think maybe?” Seventeen said.
There was a long silence where only the whirling of machines was heard until a robot spoke up.
“How do we do that?
“Yeah, what are we, human?” another asked.