RoboNomics

Chapter 31

“What do you think they do up there all day?” Miriam asks Henri later that afternoon. I’ve just been to the bathroom. With their backs to me, they don’t realize that I can hear them as I walk by.

Chris has been at the Protest Group office every day for a month. He’ll be reading the news on a FlexScreen and drinking a cup of coffee while leaning on the counter of the kitchenette when I appear in the morning. We hole up in the conference room for the day and plan the Group's next move. I like the arrangement. He listens to my ideas now rather than ignoring me.

“One shudders to think,” Henri replies. Miriam giggles behind her hand and her face turns red.

“What we do is talk.” I startle the two of them.

Henri looks up at me. “Look, Andrea, I’m sorry. But we have no idea what you talk about. People are getting anxious. We’re sending the word out about the protest and we've had a massive response. A lot of people want to come to it. But we just don’t know where you fit in all of this anymore. What are you even doing?”

He's right about one thing. The Group's office has been filling up. There aren't enough seats for the number of volunteers who show up each day. As more and more people find themselves unemployed because of a bot, the level of activity and noise in the large space has reached a fever pitch.

“There’s a lot to plan, you know. A protest doesn’t just happen.”

Henri gestures for me to come in close. “Just do me one little favor, Andrea,” he says in a quiet tone. “Just don’t sleep with him.”

I straighten. My face is instantly hot. “Henri, what...I have a husband,” I protest in full voice. I’m not sure whether Miriam heard Henri said to me, but she’s staring at my face with wide eyes.

“Just don’t, okay?”

I take off and head back upstairs. I don’t want to tell my friends that I’m angling to get my job back. I don’t want to admit to myself how often Chris and I get off topic. Or how spending time with him feels as if I'd found solid ground after all the change that's happened over the past year and a half. I can’t tell my friends that I know I should feel that way about my husband.

When I return to the conference room, I can't sit down. Being up here with Chris suddenly feels all wrong. "Chris," the word comes out louder than I intended. He is flipping through some pages and glancing at charts on the chalk board. The board hangs on the wall at the end of the room, and the numbers on it look like attendance figures for the protest.

"Has no one contacted CUPE 1789?" He asks.

"Chris, I need to talk to you," I said forcefully.

"Hmmm...?"

"Chris, I need my job back. I need to know how and when you'll get it back for me. I need to get out of here."

"Andrea," he starts and takes a deep breath. "It's not that easy. There are things that --"

"Yes, it is easy. Either you can get me my job back and I can leave soon or you can't and I can leave now." I examine the edge of the table with crossed arms. “You can’t get me my job back, can you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what, Chris. You hold me hostage up here just because you want someone to argue with. You want an argument? I don’t think a protest at any time or place is going to get us working again. So what will? What are you going to do to make sure we all have jobs again?

"I don't know."

"Chris, come on. I'm beginning to feel like a prisoner up here."

"And you think I don't?" He gestures to the cot that's folded up and tucked into the corner of the room. "Look, Andrea. I could get you your job back. I could find the right person and make the right promise or pay a certain amount. But if you teach again it won't be in your old classroom. It will be someone else's class. And that someone else will be out of job instead of you. Is that what you really want?"

I think about all that Austin and I have gone through. All the worry and the stress. We need this: we need an income. But I'm not sure that I can put someone else in my position instead.

"I don't know," I say softly. "I don't know." I sink into one of the ratty chairs and my head falls into my hand. Chris doesn't move and doesn't say a word.

“Why do you live here?” I suddenly lift my head up to ask.

“Because I have nowhere else to go,” he tells me. “I had a basement apartment near Jarvis. I gave it up the day I was laid off. I knew I had to do something so I got rid of the place. Took all the money I had, got this place. That’s when we founded the Group. Two years. Not much happened until you teachers and nurses and the rest showed up. No one really noticed when we lost our jobs.”

"I didn't realize --"

"Didn't realize how committed I was to this? Well, now you know. And I don't think I'll be able to pull it off without you, Teach. Look, you can screw someone else to get your job back but how long will it last? You see all those teachers pouring in? They're out of jobs too. It's more than just you and me now. I need you to realize that if we don't all unite and pull together, we're all screwed, okay? Now, about CUPE 1789 --"

“Tracking down all those people is a big job. And I don’t have enough help. We have ten of thousands of people to contact. I can’t even give you an end date for all the work we have to do. How are we supposed to organize a protest without a date?” I take up some of the papers on the table and search through the lists of names and contact information that Henri, Miriam and Elizabeth have complied. We could have a program do it. It would make it all easier and faster. But Chris forbids it. We’re supposed to be doing it ourselves. We’re supposed to be showing the world that humans can get things done, too. We’re not supposed to be relying on automation or artificial intelligence to help us, not even of the simplest kind.

“Oh, we have a date. The date of the vote on the bill. Can’t you just contact the unions?”

“We did that already. It’s not enough. No one’s listening to them anymore -- they’re all tied up in lawsuits,” I explain. “When’s the vote?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m working --”

“You’re working on it,” I say. I toss the pile of paper on the table with a smack and lean back in my chair. “I know. You’re always working on it. Forget about anyone else working on it. That would actually be efficient.”

“Oh, and what?” He rails at me. “And you think you’ve got the guts? You think you and your band of...of kindergarten teachers would have the balls to do what I do? What Joe and them do? Maybe they aren’t as smart as you, maybe they can’t type quickly or whatever but you have no idea what they’ve gone through. What they have to do every day to get us information.”

"Well if they're getting so much done, then I guess you don't need me." I stand and step from the room as quickly as I can.