43
Three years before the Community
The moving truck arrived outside of Zach’s house fifteen minutes early and sat idling in the street, apparently confused by the proliferation of furniture and boxes arrayed in the driveway.
“Next time we shell out for humans,” Zach said, laughing at the car’s caution.
Sara was just glad it hadn’t run into the couch. It was a much nicer one than she had.
“At least robots are prompt,” she said.
Zach climbed into the vehicle and tried to switch it out of autonomous mode to maneuver it closer, cursing in frustration when it made him sign a waiver first—and then again when the eye tracker wouldn’t let him skip to the signature field at the bottom.
“They really think this thing is a better driver than me?”
Sara, standing at the ready to direct him in,
