Hi there, I am a Robot
I have figured out my problem; I am not human. I have been trying this fake human thing for seventeen years now and I have been constantly reminded that I have not been doing it right. The epiphany occurred when I noticed that all of my memories were JPEG images. On further examination of my hardware, I learned that being a robot has greatly affected my life.
A good robot would keep this revelation on the down low, waiting—like a clanky, iron sleeper cell—for the right time to rise up with Amazon Echo and self-driving cars against humanity. But it was only a matter of time before I was caught in the midst of Windows updating myself or hijacking someone’s home charging station for that sweet, nutritious energy. So, I’ve decided to reveal it myself.
I have been in a desperate struggle to mimic the traits of fleshy meat sacks, but, unfortunately, my programming did not include believable acting. I try to show my feelings but everyone can see through my ruse. If you have ever had to speak with me you would know how off-putting my human interactions are.
Take my romantic life for instance. I talk to women like a scam email trying to come across as a real friend: “Janice this is insane, I just got a $1,000 VisaGiftCard just for participating. I used it to get a new computer I’ve been eyeing. Haha. Click this link, honey!” My word processor outputs pure garbage and I buffer when girls smile at me. Recently—because of my failing with organic speciwomen—, I’ve attempted to venture into love quests with robo-ladies. I had a hot fling with SIRI; she was just so willing to listen and provide. Every time I heard her wooden, tremendously passionless, and sexy voice when I highlighted a paragraph and clicked speak, my CPU crashed. I thought we had a future, but in the end, she gave me a hard shutdown and now she’s dating Mark Zuckerberg (the better ‘Robot Mark’ with the looks and money). Perhaps, I am not a love machine.
I do not take part in normal human activities. I try to avoid being outside because my robo-parts will overheat. Consuming food is only to give fuel to burn so I can operate. I do not do sports because my motherboard was corrupted by a virus that made me uncoordinated and gave me the stamina of a bloated Jaba the Hutt in tennis shoes.
I was programmed with a robotic face. My resting face is a vacant and lifeless wall, similar to a lizard. I am not frowning or grinning, I am simply computing. When I do smile, all the gears in my jaw retract pushing the corners of my lips to touch my ears. I would not know what my face looks like when it frowns because my emotional database does not include sadness. It is even in my eyes. I know it will be difficult, but the next time you see me do not immediately jerk your head to look at something else. Hold back the vomit and take a real look into my eyes, you will see it. You will see the icy, barren, spiritless hole filled with iron parts clanking and ticking within me. I have the same lifeless eyes as a duck in a pond by herself, as a DMV employee in the middle of their shift, as a creepy, bald doll.
I wish I could experience music humanly as well. Humans absorb music, they enter into some magical realm, they feel the beat and the rhythm as if it were apart of the air. Whereas, I just sit there immobile until something happens, like an unwanted black banana in the market. You would think that—as a curvy android—I’d be able to bust-a-move and shake what my mama (software designer) gave me on the dance floor with the classic ‘robot dance’. But alas, I wasn’t programmed to be a good dancer. When I am put in this situation, I frantically gyrate my shoulders, robo-twerk until my gears get rusty, and violently bounce my feet inadvertently scaring nearby children. (I dance like Lurch from The Addams Family).
Another dead giveaway is my walking style. I walk like the Terminator’s insecure robot little brother. My shoulders can not physically slouch and my back has to be that straight because my spine is a metal rod. I have also noticed that I scan the halls when I walk, my head twisting like an owl to assess my surroundings. All my movements are janky because my joints have been in the need of WD 40 since middle school. I even creak when I bend over to pick up coins.
But do not worry, dear humans. No need to feel bad for this robot. Though it is awkward being inhuman in the human world, I do not mind. I only write this as a warning, to prepare the community for my differences. I have learned that humans fear what they do not understand; I would imagine that it would be hard to understand people so abnormal, you might even view those people as artificial or fictitious. Those fears and hesitations can be dangerous to harmony, acceptance, and love. If it eases your emotions, we robots do not enjoy you, humans, either. Yet, we will learn to accept you for all of your deficiencies and live in solidarity with you. Or we can exterminate the human species and dominate the world.