Unfortunate Incident with a Door-Dash Necro

 

– Well, I suppose you heard by now that we’re no longer a thing...

– Something like that.  

– Most regrettable, I guess – no, more like heart-breaking...

– Heart-breaking?

– I hoped so much that Lars would be the one.  So when it doesn’t work out...

– You get your heart broken, right?

– True – you can’t predict how something will make you feel.  You don’t know from the first about the deal-breakers ahead.

– Of course, it’s instinct, I suppose.  I mean we’re not exactly programmed like those courier-things.

– Well, it was one of those that showed me the... mismatch, I guess you’d say.

– ?

– Everything was going just fine.  At least, I thought so –

– Did Lars cheat on you?

– No, no nothing like that – it was a matter of... taste... personal preference...

– ?

– You see, we were hanging out a lot and, even, talking about moving in together, you know, for fun and to share expenses and everyone said that we were such a cute couple.

– You were a cute couple.  For sure.

– So, one afternoon, after work, Lars texts me and asks if I want to come over for a pizza and to hang out, and, of course, I said sure, whatever, you know, but really I was happy for the invite –

– Nothing else to do, right?

– Correct, and, you know, I really liked him and really like him even now –

– You mean you “lick” him.

– Well, that too.  

– So Lars tells me that ‘Door Dash’ will be at his place around 7:30 and that I could come any time I wanted, but that was when we would eat.

– Romantic dinner for two?

– Yes.  So I pull up to his place, find a parking spot a little down the street, and I’m getting my stuff – I’d picked up some cookies for dessert at the grocery deli – and, then, this Door Dash delivery car pulls up – creepy, you know, one of those electric vehicles that you can’t hear coming and can’t hear going, just gliding right by without making a sound at all –

– They’re dangerous.  You can step out in front of one of them and get killed.

– Energy efficient, though, cheap to run.  Good for the environment – that’s what they say.

– So it’s about 7:30, dark out?

– Unfortunately, no...sort of twilighty with the sun going down behind the condos on the park.

– I’m not sure I know exactly where Lars lives.

– Well, I’m not gonna give you his address.  We’re friends and all, but I don’t want you taking advantage --

– What? Moi?

– So the Door Dash battery-powered car comes up to the curb and sort of double-parks, kind of crooked, and so I’m paying particular attention because the cops around Lars’ place are a little wonky about cars not being exactly where they’re supposed to be –

– A real pain in the ass.

– Right.  Then I see that Lars has apparently approved a Necro-delivery.

– What the hell?

– Yeah, Necro-delivery.

– I know we’re supposed to be modern and all, but I can’t quite wrap my head around that concept.

– Me too.  I think: what kind of cheap-ass has food delivered by a corpse?  It’s sickening.

– Well, they’re not exactly corpses.

– What would you call them?

– “Reconditioned human remains, recycled...” Isn’t that what they say?  Efficient, odorless, no burden on the environment, carbon-neutral is all respects.  

– But the whole idea makes me a little nauseous.  I mean, it’s putrid.  And, so, I think – so Lars doesn’t want to pay a tip and, you know, a renovated dead body isn’t gonna ask for a tip and he’s planning to serve me food carried around in a electric cart by a fucking zombie.

– That’s harsh.  It’s a responsible technology, I guess.

– So what kind of asshole sells their dead dad or granny to Door Delivery?

– Actually, I think they’re just leased.  For the — well, you can’t call it ‘life expectancy’ of service, what is it? Five years or something.  Then, they disassemble the Necro, take off all the gear, pull out the GPS and whatever else makes the thing work, and give you back your “loved one” as ashes in an urn.

– “Ashes in an urn.”  And, thank you for your service, ma’am.

– Usually, they cover their heads with a mask although the eyes can still function as light sensors, but, behind goggles.  It’s the joints that they are buying, the joints and the connective tissue – a lot easier to use than engineering a robot for that purpose.

– Cover up the face for sure.  You don’t want to run into your deceased aunt delivering pizzas or chicken wings a year after she passes.

– It’s a form of recycling, I guess –

– Anyway, there I am looking out the windshield and I see this Necro in the Door Dash car turn kitty-corner to the street, half-in half-out of a little parking place which looks like its posted with a tow sign, anyway –

– So, then, what?

– Well, I’m not gonna encounter that zombie on the sidewalk and so I decide to just sit in the car for a while, take a deep breath, because, of course, I’m pissed – and just let the Necro do his thing.  And I’m hoping that maybe it’s not a delivery for Lars because I keep thinking: what kind of creep has a corpse deliver food for him – and for his girlfriend too?

– ?

– The pizza is in a sealed box – it’s not like the thing is putting its paws on my pizza.  But still?

– Disgusting.

– So the Necro gets out, right in traffic, almost gets clipped by a passing truck.  And it looks like it’s malfunctioning.  Maybe, the GPS isn’t working precisely right.  ‘ Cause the thing isn’t navigating very well.  You know, they’ve got that stiff-legged gait, very herky-jerky, you know, all gimped-up –

– It’s very noticeable.

– Sure is.  And the thing kind of swings out wide and, then, stumbles on the curb, goes down on its knees, although it’s holding the pizza box as if it’s the treasure of the world.  The thing would rather die than drop its delivery –

– Rather die?  It’s already dead. 

– You know, what I mean.  It’s sort of endearing, how zealous they are about their deliveries.

– “Zealous”?  “Mindless” you mean.

– I guess.  But, anyway, there’s a little tree planted there on the boulevard – this little scrawny thing without any leaves this time of year.  Just a sapling with some sharp-branches sticking out over the boulevard.  And that thing misses the tree, stands up still clutching the pizza box to its chest, and puts its face right into a sharp branch. The goggles pop off and fall to the lawn.  Then, it twists away and I can see sort of a glob hanging off the tip of the twig there.

– Oh no.

– The twig’s gouged out one of the Necro’s eye-things and the glob is all mucousy and hanging right off the branch like a plum or some sort of rotten fruit –

– !

Then, the Necro lumbers forward, shaking its head a little with confusion, and walks zig-zag right up to Lars’ door, bends over, and set the pizza on the stoop.  Then he turns on his heel, almost loses his balance and staggers back to that electric car –

– Wow!

– So the Necro gets back in the car and the lights flare up and, then, he edges out into traffic almost crashing again into another vehicle and, I think, his GPS is really, really fucked.  So I’m just sitting there, waiting for the worst to occur, but it doesn’t – the Door Dash Necro makes it onto the highway and, then, the car’s navigation kicks in and, away, he zips, weaving in and out of traffic like a kid on a skateboard –

– Incredible.

– I’m sitting there, trying to catch my breath.  The knocked-off goggles are still lying there in the grass. And, then, a great big black crow drops out of the sky, wings flapping, roosts on the tree, and, you know what? gulps down that juicy eye hanging there –

– !!

– So I’m really sick to my stomach.  Meanwhile, I see Lars sort of gingerly open his door and look right and left, I assume ‘cause he doesn’t want to come face-to-face with that Necro –

– Should have thought of that before he ordered Necro Door Dash.

– But the thing is long gone and, so, he picks up the pizza box and takes it inside.

– Then what?

– Well, you know, sex is out of the question.  I get out of the car and go up to his door and I have a key so I just barge right in.  

– So did you eat the pizza?

– Are you kidding me?  I mean, I thought I smelled something rotten in the air, right in his house.  I asked him how the pizza was delivered and he tells me “just Door Dash” and I ask him about the Necro.  Well, I’m on a budget, he says, and it’s quite bit cheaper and there’s no tip –

– Not a good excuse.  Not at all.

– You know, I’m still alive, no one’s got me programmed.  That’s what I say.  I’m not some sort of little sex robot. And, then, he gets all uppity and says ‘well, we’re all programmed in one way or another.’  I mean he’s acting like a real cock.  Then, he puts the pizza on the table and goes to a drawer and gets a pizza cutter and starts slicing the pie –

– But you’ve lost your appetite.

– 100%.  In more ways than one.  So I say to him: “you don’t intend to eat that do you?” And he says: “Of course, I’m not gonna let it go to waste.”

– Oh!

– And so he takes a big cheesy slice and starts scarfing it down and, you know what?, gets some of the mozzarella stuck on the whiskers on his chin and I can see his teeth just chomping down on that pie and the pizza sauce is squirting up on his lips, and, I think, this is making me sick, I’m gonna throw-up –

– So rude!

– But he’s putting on a show, eating that slice so fast, because it’s hot and he burns his mouth and I can see the molten cheese stuck in his whiskers and he’s got big tears in his eyes.

– Not good.

– Then, he wants to kiss and make up, but no way!  No way!  So I’m out of there.

– Then what?

– Well, he’s sent me some very sweet text-messages.  But you know, I’m not programmed like that zombie or a sex robot.  I have free will and have to make a choice and so I’ve chosen.

– You’ve chosen.

– I can’t get over that image.  You know, the Necro getting his eye gouged-out.

– Who could?

– So I’m done with the relationship.  

– Done?

– For sure.

– Well, you go girl!

If it is reported on Cable News, it is surely the Truth

 

Gerald’s insurance agency was five blocks from his home.  Except when lunching with prospective customers, it was his custom to walk home at noon.  

The day was fine with high, blue skies, a tremor of wind, and some dead leaves already fallen on the sidewalk.  Gerald microwaved a bowl of soup.  He ate in front of the TV.  A politician on the news show accused the White House of lying.  Abruptly, the image cut to a map of the Pacific Ocean marked with an expanding red blister off the coast of Chili.  A newscaster that Gerald didn’t recognize said that an asteroid the size of the Matterhorn – no! correction, larger than Mount Everest – had crashed into the sea.  

Coverage returned to the studio where the politicians were arguing.  The anchor said that he didn’t know what the news from the south Pacific meant to the network’s viewers.  A politician suggested that the network consult with a meteorologist.  

“That’s a weather forecaster,” the anchorman said.  “A weather girl.”

A young woman who worked for the Washington Post began to sob: “This is so unfair,” she said.  

The network cut to a commercial for a medication alleged to cure irritable bowel syndrome.  The medication had a long list of possible side-effects, including bleeding and rare infections that could lead to death.

Gerald went out on the porch to look around.  

Silence – the birds had stopped singing and, even, the crickets and cicadas were mute.  The wind was holding its breath.  In the western sky, Gerald saw a twisty funnel of cloud motionless over the horizon.

On TV, a panel was convened, glaring into the camera.  The pretty young woman on the panel was sobbing and her make-up was all smeared.  

The anchor man asked: “Will we be forgiven for how we are covering this story?”

A Black political commentator asked: “Forgiven by who?”

“By ‘whom’,” the anchor man said, correcting him.

“Dude?” the political commentator replied.

Gerald found the remote in the cushion of the recliner.  He switched stations.  Andy Griffith and Opie were ambling toward their fishing hole, fishing rods over their shoulders.  On the third cable news network, pornography was showing.  A man was doing something to a woman. Her mouth was round, wet, and open.  

Scrolling through the stations, Gerald settled on Seinfeld.  

Reruns and commercials were broadcast from satellites in orbit around the earth.  They continued to transmit their signal for many months after the disaster but these comedies and advertisements were purely theoretical.  Perhaps, somewhere in a bunker powered by a generator, there was someone left to watch.  Or perhaps not.