The old landline has gone silent. What a pity. Through my cell phone, after hours of music and impossible conversations with telephone robots, I manage to talk to a living being. It is exciting to hear an animal sound. That current of air passing between her vocal cords, united in vibrant and delicate folds of real flesh. I wouldn't mind if he coughed a little, how sweet. The human teleoperator, with a beautiful voice, perhaps baritone, thinks that there is no choice but to have a technician come to the house, also alive.
Before, he has tried to awaken in me skills that I do not have, inciting me to do a remote-controlled tapping of keys and tabs, in dark corners of the old telephone, and an accelerated course like a subliminal antennaist. And nothing. I'm no good. It's enough for me to have become an unpaid director of my online banking office, a volunteer supermarket cashier, or a free luggage check-in assistant. It's normal for something to resist me. I don't go around demanding people play the piano for me either, so to speak.
The fact is that the landline fault is not going to be solved without professional handling. Now it's just a matter of arranging the technician's visit. A seemingly silly thing that turns out to be a crossroads; The teleoperator lacks the power to make the appointment, despite his baritone voice, and will limit himself to requesting the request. “I'm going to be honest with you,” he threatens me before leaving me alone, “three things can happen to you now.” I tremble. “The technician himself may call you to meet directly with you.” I sense that that would be a stroke of luck that I don't deserve. “You may receive a text message with a link.” I notice in his tone that the worst is missing. “But it can also happen that a robot communicates with you.” God. “In that case, listen to me carefully, if a robot speaks to you, above all accept the time and day it tells you, immediately.” I don't ask him what will happen to me if I hesitate or disobey.
I nervously wait for one of the three communications. I tell this to a friend who tells me that, in addition to my cell phone, I should keep an eye on my appliances: “Anyone could start talking to you.” I think your definition of a robot is very liberal, but I look at the crestfallen vacuum cleaner with suspicion. And the juicer, which could throw juice in my eyes. We have lost control.
