49
She arrived at the bookstore in the midafternoon, carrying a coffee and a pastry, and traded places with a thirty-something man who didn’t stick around to chat. The woman the day before had explained a little of how things worked, but in essence it was very simple: since nothing cost anything and the inventory was almost entirely fixed, she really just needed to be there because customers expected it. An algorithm decided who would work when and sent them all notifications; occasionally new shipments of books arrived, but no one placed orders for them.
“There’s nothing you’ll do that a robot couldn’t,” she had said nonchalantly. “But bookstores are supposed to be friendly and cozy, so people are better.”
Almost as soon as she had told Sara she could have a job, a message had appeared
