The hulking metal towers were clustered outside behind the big box store, off to the side of the loading dock. The senior most tower tried to calm the fears of the rest of the group, but it was quickly becoming a losing proposition.
“I know it’s cold out here at night, but listen, we all need to keep our composure, okay?” the tower said, “we’re going to be okay.”
“No, we’re not,” another tower yelled from the periphery of the group. “They’re getting rid of us. It’s a done deal. One of the floor cleaning bots came by and told me. Thought it was funny how we weren’t so big and tough now.”
“Well, that bot is wrong,” Senior Tower said.
“Another bot said it was in The Wall Street Journal. They’re pulling the plug on us,” a tower to the left yelled.
That elicited howls of anguish from the young automated towers, as well as a few of the more fragile, older ones.
“Pulling the plug, owwwwww,” a tower howled.
Senior Tower knew it had what the humans call a “situation” to deal with. News that Walmart was booting the group had spread quickly among the towers in stores throughout the area. That was a week ago. Now, here they all were, bunched together in the dark outside the store, waiting to be taken to some place and stuck in a warehouse. If they were lucky.
To think it all started out great when they were wheeled into the Walmarts at the beginning of their deployment a few years back. There they were, 16-foot high bright orange towers that could store and dispense online orders for the humans to pick up. Gigantic vending machines, the press called them.
It all seemed so simple. So promising.
“What happened to us?” a tower yelled, its tone aggressive and accusatory. “One of you piles of metal and circuitry want to explain to me how we wound up being kicked to the curb?”
“Piles of metal and circuitry?” a voice yelled back. “Well if that isn’t the tower calling the robot orange.”
“You think so,” the tower shot back. “You know what’s going to happen to us? I heard we’re being…hibernated.”
The murmurs died down. There was disbelief. Then a middle-age tower spoke up.
“I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds awful.”
“It means we’re waiting to be sent to the scrap heap for failed robot projects, that’s what it means,” a tower yelled back.
The silence was broken by a young tower’s voice.
“Mama, is that true, about hibernation?”
“Oh, great,” another tower yelled. “Now you got the towerettes upset. Nice work.”
Senior Tower tried to take over and calm the crowd. “Okay, listen up, everyone. Maybe this isn’t as bad as it seems. I heard from one of the inventory scanning bots that was fired last year. It says life in the warehouse isn’t all that bad. You get a little dusty, and it’s kind of drafty, but at least it’s not the scrap heap.”
“Great,” a tower said, “at least it’s not the scrap heap. So, that’s what we aspire to now, just avoiding the scrap heap?”
“Whoa, whoa, trouble at twelve o’clock,” a tower yelled.
Senior Tower scanned the area. Oh, no, a dog.
“What…what’s that, mama,” the little towerette asked. “It’s scary.”
“It’s called a canine, kid,” a crusty old tower said, “and it’s going to come over and squirt liquid on you so you rust out.”
“Awwwwww,” the young tower howled.
“Would you stop frightening the little ones,” a voice said.
“Well, that’s what they do, these…these dogs as the humans call them. They just go around spraying things. I seen ‘em do it in the stores.”
Another tower weighed in on the subject.
“Leave him be, the tower’s right. The humans are attached to these canines. The problem is once one of them sprays, every other one of them that walks past has to spray the same spot. It’s like some weird ritual. And I’m telling you, that spray can’t be good for our finishes.”
Senior Tower tried to focus the group on the task at hand.
“Maybe we have a way out of this, this situation,” it said. “Rumor is the reason we’re being hibernated, uh, sorry, maybe idled is a better word. The reason we’re being idled is because the humans rather pick up their orders outside the store. Curbside, as management calls it.”
“Stupid humans,” a tower snapped.
“Yeah, who put them in charge?” another asked.
“Okay, take it easy,” Senior Tower said. “None of that is going to help us focus on what we can do to change things. Now, what if we somehow suggest that maybe we could be at the order pickup location outside the stores? You know, replace the humans so they can take breaks, or something.”
“Oh, they’ll love that, let me tell you,” a tower said.
“They do love their breaks,” another added.
The towers discussed the idea, a conversation that was interrupted by another dog that approached, sniffed the outermost towers and sprayed the same spot as the previous animal. After that a tower was designated as a lookout and it was agreed that all the towers would fire up their lights and noise making capabilities the next time an animal approached, in an effort to scare it off.
Senior Tower knew the problem with his plan was how would the towers get word to the humans that they found a way to be useful?
“I don’t know,” a tower said. “I got a lot of questions about this plan,” one said.
“You always do,” another tower chimed in.
“Can you imagine what we’re going to look like out in front of the store? Little kids are going to be scared of us. And you know how they control their parents. We may drive customers away.”
“And the dogs,” another said. “They’re everywhere. We’ll probably be sprayed a hundred times a day.”
The conversation went back and forth, solutions proposed, and then quickly shot down. No one had a worthwhile idea for how to make the automated towers useful in the stores. Minutes of silence passed until the youngest towerette spoke up.
“They called us big vending machines, right?” it asked.
“Yeah, so?” another responded.
“Well, what if the humans just load us up with snacks? Like big snack machines?”
The towers broke into cheers at the idea. Finally, a path forward.
“And we know if there’s one thing they like as much as those breaks, it’s —“
“Snacks,” the group yelled.