Muesli

This story is by Joe Streiff and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Ernie hated breakfast in general, and he hated muesli in particular. Yet here he was, munching away at a full bowl, just as every morning, because ARG-U5, his health insurance’s AI, had decided in all its wisdom this was what he needed. This and a glass of freshly replicated orange juice. No sugar, of course.

When Ernie had finished, he put on his coat and went to the Blitz, just as every morning. These things run at 450 km/h, he thought, one comes along every 8.5 minutes and yet, they somehow manage to be 28 minutes late on a ten minute ride. 

35 minutes later, Ernie entered his company’s 55-story building. It was one of the smaller ones in the area. A nice cozy hut, former ACCE boss Dan Acreman had called it. Then, Acreman resigned and became CEO of GFY, a company with a 122-story building. 

Ernie sat down at his desk and paired his neuralink with his workstation. He’d been away two days, and now had 342 new tickets. That’s what you got for taking off a long weekend.

After a minute, his supervisor Dick Hugh zapped in via neura-call.

“Ernie, I sent you some tickets while you were away.”

185, to be exact, Ernie thought.

Yes, sir, I’m at it,” he said.

“That’s all high priority, understood?”

“Yessir!” Ennie had almost been able to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. He looked at his high priority inbox. 3756 tickets. He looked at his low priority inbox. One from eight years ago.

“How are y-” Ernie began, but Dick had already disconnected.

As Personal Efficiency Officer, Ernie was told to tell people how to improve their performance. Data analysis was done by an AI. The Board, however, felt the results were better delivered to employees by a human. Better have a fellow slave crack the whip, Ernie thought. 

He opened the first ticket and zapped into the respective employee’s neuralink. A frightened young face was projected into his occipital lobe.

“Haley, you have a minute?” Ernie asked.

“Of course, Mr. Boudin,” the answer ran through his auditory cortex, “What is it?”

“Haley, the latest efficiency analysis suggests employees limit personal communication to designated times to avoid cognitive fragmentation. Can you consolidate all non-work-related interactions into a single 10-minute window?”

“But Mr. Boudin, doesn’t that include talking to family? Even for emergencies?”

“I’m afraid it does. But please understand I’m only the messenger here, Haley.”

“I understand.” Her voice said. Her tone said she didn’t. 

“Thanks, Haley.” 

“Thank you, Mr-” Ernie had disconnected. 180 more of these to go before lunch.

The nanosecond the clock display jumped to 12:00, Ernie rose and was out the door.. 

He went to a park. Not the fancy corporate park up at level 30. Not the luxurious Exec Park up at 55 either, he wasn’t even allowed in there. Ernie went to a small derelict public park on the opposite side of the crossroads next to the office building. He liked how things just grew wildly there. No sign of orchids, but dandelions all the way, and weeds in every hue. Big willows as well, their mighty hanging branches forming a green shield against the rays of sunlight the surrounding mirrored towers tried to shoot into the park from every angle.

Ernie passed the rusty gate to the park and walked to the park’s center, a circle of big rocks. He sat down on one and took a look around. He was not sure whether he’d call the park pretty, but it was real. 

A homeless man caught his eye. The man sat near him, his back leaning against the trunk of a huge rampant willow, probably the oldest one in the park. There was something strange about the man. He was smiling. He just sat there, smiling at the green dome of leaves above them.

Ernie frowned at the bum. The man had nothing, and he was supposed to feel bad about it. Yet, here he was, smiling, while Ennie, the one with a job and a flat, was the one frowning. Asshole…

After 15 minutes, Ernie got up to return to his office. The bum was still sitting there, still smiling. The man’s smile haunted Ernie through the afternoon, all the way home and deep into the night. What the hell was that man smiling about?

The next morning, Ernie sat down to have breakfast. The bum’s smile was still with him. He stared at the muesli and juice, then dumped both into the waste recycler and stood up. Immediately, a push notification from his health insurance pinged. His health insurance rates had just risen a level. Also, ARG-U5 had arranged an appointment for him with a nutritionist.

Ernie chuckled, shrugged and went to the office. 578 tickets he had processed the day before, 654 new tickets were waiting for him now. Another call from Dick, another 125 productivity consultations, finally at 12:00 off to the park. 

The homeless man was there again. Or still there. Ernie still was not able to forgive the man his happy smile. Ernie took out the magazine he brought along to read. While browsing through it, a quote by FDR caught his eye:

 

In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”

 

“You know, Roosevelt was right,” a hoarse voice right next to Ernie’s ear said. Ernie flinched. The bum must have crept over without Ernie noticing it. Without his smelling it. “FDR was right in general,” the homeless man went on, “but he stopped one step short. The worst thing is having your decisions taken away from you.” The man smiled again, then turned around and walked off. Ernie watched him disappear behind the overgrown bushes then sat motionless for a while until a neura alarm indicated it was time to go back to the office. Ernie stood up. The world around him seemed to be off a tad. He also felt a strange warmth inside as he walked back. 

When he was back at his desk and had reconnected with his workstation, he zapped to Haley from the day before. 

“Yes, Mr. Boudin, Sir, what can I do for you? I have merged eating and reading, as you said, Sir. It was good advice Sir, thank you!”

“You know what? You look stressed, Haley. Why don’t you just take a break, eh? Go out, enjoy the sun, let it all hang out a bit. Take at least fifteen! Professional advice, I just sent you the approval.” Ernie winked at her, then disconnected before she could utter any response. He leaned back, thought for a moment, then smiled and started typing a mass text message, addressed to everyone on employment level A55: 

 

“Everyone, take 15 minutes off and relax. That is an order! -Ernie”

 

Five minutes later, Dick zapped in, his head read, a thick vein visible on his forehead. 

“What the hell was that?!”

“Professional advice.” Ernie replied in a calm voice, dripping with sarcasm.

“You don’t have the authority to provide breaks!”

“My contract says I do.”

“We both know that’s only formal!” Dick was on the brink of screaming.

“You know what, Dick? Go fuck yourself.” Ernie said, a broad, friendly smile creeping over his face. 

“Excuse me!?” Dick gasped for air. This was his moment. Ennie knew there’d be hell to pay in about one and a half seconds, but those one and a half seconds would be his and his alone. For one and a half second, he was free.

 ***

Two weeks later, when the clinic had released Ernie after his “nervous breakdown”, Ernie recalled what had happened next. The paramedics had really been quite friendly. They had also made perfectly clear that while Ernie might want to resist, he would be coming along either way.

The doctors had also been very nice, if a bit routined in their treatment. They had cases like Ernie’s by the hundreds. He had made a recovery in record time, they said. Ernie had constantly smiled, which had made the doctors feel somewhat uneasy. Which might have been why they had sent him home early, two weeks part-time, then back on a full work day again.

“No hard feelings, Ernie,” Dick said on Ernie’s first day back at the office. 

“No hard feelings, Dick,” Ernie answered. 

During his lunch break at noon, Ernie fed the muesli he had pocketed at breakfast to the birds. He still drank the juice and milk, but he never ate muesli again.

“Not a breakfast person?” a cheerful voice said, “Me neither.”  

On another rock near him sat a woman. She smiled at him, as she, too, fed muesli to the birds. Ernie smiled back. 

“No,” he said, “no, indeed not.”  It was only then that he realized how fat the birds in the park were.