I wake up, shower, make myself pretty for the world and go to work. There are a few women working as secretaries for the company. It’s usually only seven in the morning when I roll in but their faces are already down and planted to their smart phones. When they notice it’s me they manage to peel their eyes away for a few seconds. I flirt with them, and since two are single mothers and the third is single in her thirties they eagerly drink it up. As soon as I go into the back their eyes flip back down to whatever important business is going on in iPhone land.
I go to whatever coffee shop my partner wants to. We stand in line, and I look around and see the professional women in suits and skirts fiddling around with their smart phones while waiting in line. I can’t tell if their zombified looks come from a bad nights sleep or the intense focus they have on their touch screens.
We go to a domestic jobsite, being let into the house by a bored looking wife. She barely acknowledges our presence, too absorbed with her iPad to even ask for our credentials. We could be two murderous rapists disguised as electricians but she can’t be bothered to check that; the 50% off I can see on the screen is just far too captivating for her to bother with such things as safety or courtesy. She points in the direction of the basement, and passing the living room I see her four year old daughter sitting on the floor in front of the television. Her eyes are glued to the commercial, the toys around her unheeded.
At lunch we find ourselves in a fast food joint. The same type of professional women from the coffee shop earlier are in here, ordering salads as if that’ll negate the large Mocha and Espresso’s they gulped down earlier. Their phones are still in their hands, their thumbs still jittering around the screen like it’s possessed. I stare at some, wondering just what is so important that it needs their full attention while they’re in the middle of ordering. Some look up for a fraction of a second, catch my eye, and I can almost see a struggle in them to maintain eye contact. The urge for the phone wins, usually within a few seconds, and I place my order with a cashier who almost seems startled that a customer isn’t darting their attention between the menu and an electronic gadget.
At the end of the day, I park in the company garage and come in through the back. Out front the secretaries are still tapping away. I’m in too much of a rush to stop and flirt. Most days they don’t even notice that I’ve gone by. They often ask why I don’t hang out with after work. Personally, I believe it’s because I just couldn’t handle the excitement of being around such vivacious women.
I go home, eat, and head out to the gym. I plug in my old iPod Nano and go about my routine. In between sets I look around, seeing who’s all in there tonight, who’s making progress, if any particularly cute gal is mirin. There are several such cuties in attendance, slowly pumping their overly tanned legs on the treadmills and elliptical machines or half heartedly curling the lightest dumbbells. While on the machines they stare down, always down, their thumbs the only thing getting a real workout. In the free weight area they do five reps, drop the weight and spend the next three minutes tapping away. I marvel at their multitasking, admiring how their highly advanced brains can focus on their social media updates and texting while they do such strenuous exercises as running 3 km/hour and curling a 10 pound dumbbell four times. My mind has to focus so much while I squat three plus plates that I barely register the Katy Perry song playing on my Nano. I curse my mental deficiencies.
After the gym I get home and finally check my cell phone. Seven missed texts and two missed calls. Six out of nine are from my current bang buddy, wanting to ‘hang out’ that night. I text her back to still see if she’s up for it and the reply comes before I can even snap my flip phone closed.
I go to her place, spend twenty minutes watching reality television while she juggles her smart phone, a laptop and the television remote, flipping between a cooking show and a wedding show whenever a commercial comes on for either one. Eventually I get bored and impatient and blatantly cup her crotch and the electronics go down for a half hour while we rock the Kasbah. I get up to wipe myself down and by the time I come back to put on my gitch the smart phone has reappeared. She barely mumbles half a sentence and a goodbye when I throw on the rest of my clothes and leave.
I get back home and casually glance at my phone. Thee new texts, with one actually being from the girl I just left asking if I was going to the social this weekend. I shake my head, honestly wondering if she sent me the text while I was physically in her presence. I reply with maybe, briefly check my article comments on Return Of Kings to further boost my ego and ban trolls, and go to bed.
I have been around a hundred different women that day and I doubt ninety percent looked up long enough to take notice of the world around them. The one woman I was physically inside had all the alacrity of someone riding high on novocaine. I’m sure at some point in the day most of these women will have posted or liked a status having to do with the complete dearth of available men in their city. That or the eternal complaint about how men just use them for sex; why can’t any guy, like, just sit down and have a friggin conversation for once amirite?!!!!
When the sexbots arrive I honestly don’t even think I’ll notice a change in society. We’re already living in nations of vaginally equipped robots. Finding a woman with a mind that thinks beyond 140 characters will soon be an impossible task. It’s becoming increasingly pointless to interact with the female of the species beyond the purposes of getting your dinky stinky.
On the plus side; at least our sexbots won’t waste our time with texts and reality television. The conversation will probably be better as well.
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