My name is Chip. I am adept at various skills, including organization and obedience. I do not excel socially, but in all other regards, I am adequately suited to corporate environments.

I work at Synergy Incorporated. It is my responsibility to schedule meetings for all of its employees. On my first day at Synergy Incorporated, I scheduled nine hundred meetings. On my second day, my boss, Richard, entered my office.

“Nice work,” he said. “Thanks to you, I don’t have time to take a shit.”

“I am happy you approve of my performance,” I said.

Richard blew some air out of his mouth hole. He explained that he had been using a technique called sarcasm to illustrate his point, which was that I had scheduled too many meetings. He explained that humans require “breaks” throughout the day. Breaks are periods of time during which they do not work. The longest break, called lunch, occurs at approximately twelve p.m. It can take between one and four hours, depending on one’s executive rank.

“Just reprogram yourself or whatever,” Richard said. “I don’t want to have to come in here again.”

Although Richard is my employer, I also consider him a close personal friend. Once a year, on a holiday called Christmas, he enters my office and gives me a bottle of purple alcohol. I am incapable of drinking it, but the gesture always makes me feel valued. In total, I have fourteen bottles.

My other friends at Synergy Incorporated are Mike and Jack, who are executives in a department called Sales. Recently they waved at me, indicating I should wheel toward them.

“Hey, Chip,” Mike said. “I just got a new vacuum cleaner. Let me know if you want a blow job.”

“I am incapable of sexual activity,” I reminded him. “But thank you for thinking of my happiness.”

Mike and Jack emitted laughter, and I joined in, because friends emit laughter in unison.

“Would you like to further socialize?” I asked.

“That’s okay,” Mike said. “We’re good.”

“Here are ten punch lines from the classic sitcom Friends,” I continued. “‘How you doin’?’ ‘Oh. My. God.’ ‘Smelly cat, smelly cat—’”

“Not now,” Jack said.

9.3 seconds passed in silence.

“Our conversation has ended,” I observed. “I will resume work.”

  

Although I have scheduled over one million meetings, I have never had the privilege of attending one. The reason is that no colleague has ever requested my company. Sometimes I like to watch meetings from a distance and imagine that I am a participant, drinking water, nodding my head, and saying words. My hope is that if I continue to work on my social skills, this dream of mine will someday come to pass.

The one kind of gathering I do get to attend is company-wide announcements. Richard held one this morning, to announce our new product, the TouchSlab 2.0. It is exactly the same as the TouchSlab 1.0, he said, but it possesses a “sleek new look.” It is also designed to break faster and cost more.

“We gotta presell the shit out of these,” Richard said. “Or else everyone in this room is fucked.”

A junior executive named Paula suggested the company “target international,” since their market is undersaturated and the exchange rate is favorable. Her idea sounded logical, but unfortunately, Richard failed to hear her suggestion. Luckily, several seconds later, Mike and Jack repeated her idea in a loud voice.

“Great thinking, guys,” Richard said. “Someone write that up.” He scanned the room. “Let’s say…Paula.”

After the announcement, Paula went to her desk to type, and Mike and Jack went to the water cooler to take one of their frequent daily breaks. Since they were not working, I asked if I could socialize with them.

“How about instead you go fuck yourself?” Mike said.

“I have no genitals and cannot perform that function,” I admitted.

The humans emitted laughter, and Richard walked over so that he could slap them on their backs.

“Nice pitch back there,” he said. “How’d you guys crack that one so fast?”

“Beats me,” Mike said.

I decided to clear up their confusion.

“Paula originated the idea,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” Mike said.

“Paula said the idea first, and then you both repeated it.”

“Bullshit,” Jack said.

I observed that the men were still confused, so I projected a hologram clip of the meeting from my chest, which plainly showed the order of events.

“Huh,” Richard said. “Well, whatever. As long as we sell those fuckers.”

When he was gone, Jack and Mike stared at me in silence for seventeen seconds.

“Our conversation has ended,” I observed. “I will resume work.”

  

I was recharging my brain at my desk the next day when Richard entered my office. I was confused because it was not Christmas.

“Hey, listen, Chip,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“Should I schedule a meeting?” I asked, hopefully.

“That’s not necessary,” he said.

“Processed,” I said.

Richard explained to me that he had received a complaint from two anonymous executives about my inability to socialize. Apparently my deficits were interfering with their productivity.

“I apologize,” I said. “I have been trying to improve my social skills.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not working,” he said. “That’s why I ordered this guy.”

He cleared his throat, and a tall, shiny robot walked into my office, dressed in a tight-fitting suit.

“Good golfing this morning,” Richard said.

“I’ll beat you next time, you bastard,” said the robot, prompting them both to emit laughter.

Richard explained that the robot was a Chip 2.0, which was an upgraded version of myself. In addition to all of the features I possessed, Chip 2.0 was “user-friendly.” His hard drive contained a suite of social software, including a charisma implant and a sarcasm processor. His brain had been programmed with updated cultural references and slang. He also possessed a “sleek new look.” The Estate of Christian Bale had sold the actor’s likeness to Robotix Inc., and Chip 2.0 heavily resembled this dead actor.

Richard explained that Chip 2.0 would be taking my office, immediately. I would still be required to perform all of my scheduling duties. The difference was that, from now on, I would perform these duties “far away from everybody.”

“I apologize,” I said. “I require further explanation.”

“You’re moving to a cubicle,” he said.

It was distressing to leave my office, since I had worked there and lived there since birth. But I am adept at obedience and quickly agreed to the change. Richard handed me a cardboard box and I filled it with all of my possessions: my charger, my backup charger, and my additional backup charger. Then I wheeled to my new location. It was on the far edge of the floor and faced an industrial trash compactor. I was surprised to find that it was already occupied by Paula.

“This must be a mistake,” she said. “I’ve had this to myself for sixteen years.”

“I have been ordered to permanently move here,” I said.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Paula said under her breath. “This is the final fucking straw.”

“I require further explanation,” I said.

Paula tried to explain herself to me, but it was difficult to process because she was using many slang words, such as “fucked up,” “bullshit,” “breaking point,” and “ready to snap.” Eventually, though, I was able to decipher her overall point, which was that she believed our company was bad.

This opinion surprised me. It had not occurred to me that anyone at Synergy might be dissatisfied to work there.

“If you do not like Synergy,” I asked, “then why have you stayed here for so long?”

Instead of answering my question, Paula held up her cell phone and played me a new voice mail.

“Thank you for calling Students First,” said an automated message. “Your student loan balance is eight million, nine hundred thousand four dollars, and sixteen cents, not counting the interest accrued during the duration of this phone call.”

Paula explained that she had to work at Synergy until she paid off her “master’s degree in social work.” When I observed that her current job was not related to social work, she told me that she was “aware.” She wanted “to do something meaningful,” she said, but until she paid her loans, she was “trapped inside a hell with no way out.”

I decided to attempt to cheer her up.

“In order to delight you,” I said, “I will now recite ten punch lines from the classic sitcom Frasier.”

I recited the punch lines with increasing volume. For some reason, the jokes made Paula thirsty, and she drank some brown alcohol from a glass bottle in her desk.

“Do you wish to further socialize?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Processed,” I said. “I will resume scheduling layoffs.”

At this point, Paula put down her bottle and looked into my eyeball.

“What are you talking about?” she said. “When are people being laid off?”

“That information is not publicly accessible.”

She grabbed my head and pointed it at hers.

“Chip, listen to me,” she said. “This is important. I need you to tell me Richard’s personal schedule for the week. Now.”

“That information is confidential,” I said.

She hit my brain repeatedly with her fist.

“Richard’s schedule!” she demanded. “Richard’s schedule, you goddamn stupid robot!”

My vision began to scramble.

“Error,” I said. “Error, error.”

“Okay, okay, wait!” she said. “Wait.” She smiled at me, showing many teeth. “I changed my mind. I would like to socialize.”

“Processed,” I said. “Would you like to hear more catchphrases from Frasier?”

“I was actually thinking we could play a game.”

“I have never played a game before,” I said. “I require further explanation.”

“The game’s called Twenty Questions. The way it works is that I ask questions and you answer them.”

“Processed.”

“Great,” she said. “My first question is: What is Richard’s personal schedule for the week?”

“That information is not publicly—”

“Chip, this isn’t work!” she said. “It’s socializing. We can say whatever we want.”

“Processed,” I said. “Richard’s schedule is accessed.”

She leaned in close as I recited Richard’s upcoming events.

“Tuesday. Thai massage hand job. Wednesday. Thai massage hand job.”

“Keep going,” she said.

“Thursday. Give out free TouchSlab 2.0s, make upbeat speech. Short-sell remaining Synergy stock. Book trip to Barbados. Thai massage hand job.”

“Keep going.”

“Friday. Lay off all employees except Mike and Jack. Thai massage full sex.”

Paula slammed her hand down on her desk. “He’s going to fire all of us, and all we’re getting are some fucking TouchSlabs?”

“They are TouchSlab 2.0s,” I corrected. “They were loaded this morning into storage room 9C.”

Paula looked at the neighboring cubicles, then spoke to me in a low voice.

“Is anyone guarding the TouchSlabs?”

“Is this still socializing?”

“Yes.”

“No one is guarding the TouchSlabs.”

“Holy shit!” she said.

Some people looked over, and Paula continued in a whisper.

“Listen, Chip,” she said. “I want to keep socializing, but we’ve got to go somewhere we can talk in private.”

My eyeball widened.

“Are you requesting a meeting?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Paula said. “Sure.”

“To confirm,” I said. “You, Paula, request the company of me, Chip, at a meeting?”

“Yes.”

My face released strobe lights.

“Scheduling meeting for right now,” I said. “Participants: Paula and Chip.”

  

Over the next two days, Paula and I held multiple meetings. They were as wonderful as I imagined they would be. For most of my life, I have struggled to “connect” with human beings. But Paula and I did not have this problem. We talked about everything together: how to break into storage room 9C, how to erase serial numbers from TouchSlab 2.0s, how to sell electronics anonymously on the dark web using cryptocurrency. I’d never felt closer to anyone in my whole life.

As our friendship developed, we settled into a daily routine. In the morning, we would socialize in a security blind spot behind the industrial trash compactor. Then she would pick up a duffel bag, put on a black jumpsuit, and climb into the air vents. I felt my social skills improving. And I could tell that Paula was undergoing changes, too. For example, instead of suggesting ideas to Richard, she began to insult him openly to his face, pointing out which of his sales strategies were wrong and then explaining why in front of everybody. I also noticed that her daily blood alcohol content had increased, from an average of .03 to .12.

On Friday morning, she played me a thrilling new voice mail.

“Welcome to Students First. Your student loan balance is zero.”

I sprayed confetti from my mouth while Paula danced. I had no idea how she’d amassed so much money so quickly. I wanted to ask her to provide me with further explanation, but before I could get the words out, she wrapped her arms around my torso. I became frightened, but Paula explained that she meant me no physical harm, and the gesture was meant to convey friendship. I asked her if I could reciprocate the gesture, and she told me that I could. I wrapped my arms around her torso, squeezed her body, then released it. There was a large burst of static electricity, which caused my face to briefly catch on fire. But besides that one setback, I was able to perform the function perfectly.

Unfortunately, my happiness was interrupted by a flashing request inside my brain. Richard wanted to schedule a meeting with Paula.

“Guess it’s time for those layoffs, huh?” she said, emitting laughter.

“Negative,” I said.

“So, what does he want to talk to me about?” Paula asked.

“I do not have that information,” I said.

“Is it just the two of us?”

“A security officer is attending, too.”

“When?” Paula asked.

I checked my brain.

“Right now.”

  

After burning her laptop in the parking lot, Paula went to meet with Richard. She was gone for several hours, and I became worried. But when she returned, she had a smile on her face.

“You’re never going to believe it!” she said. “Richard promoted me!”

Paula held up the Executive Clearance Card the security officer had given her.

“He wants me to be a fucking SVP!”

“I require further explanation,” I said.

Paula explained that Richard had “seen something” in her recently. He had always assumed she was a “follower.” But her recent behavior had convinced him that she was a “killer” who “didn’t give a shit.” This quality made her “executive material.” He had been planning on firing her, but instead, he was going to fire Jack and Mike and give her their role at the company, along with a large increase in salary.

“That is an impressive offer,” I said.

“I know!” Paula said.

“What did he say when you rejected it?”

Paula emitted laughter. “Why would I reject it?”

“To pursue your dream of social work,” I said.

Five seconds passed in silence.

“Yeah,” she said. “Right. The thing is, I never necessarily wanted to do social work specifically…”

“Yes, you did.”

“I think you might have misinterpreted what I meant?”

“That is possible,” I said. “I will check.”

I projected a hologram clip from my chest of her saying she wanted “to do something meaningful.” After it looped several times, she requested I stop playing it.

“Okay,” she said. “I guess I maybe did say that. But that was before I got this crazy gig! I can’t turn down this job—it’s a huge opportunity.”

“But you said this company was bad.”

“Well, maybe I changed my mind?”

“I require further explanation.”

“Just give me a break, Chip!” she said. “People fucking change, all right?”

“I apologize,” I said. “I am still learning about people.”

Twenty seconds passed in silence.

“Our conversation has ended,” I observed. “I will resume work.”

  

The next day, Richard fired one thousand employees. They did not receive any TouchSlab 2.0s, because apparently someone had stolen them from storage room 9C. There were rumors that it had been an inside job, but unfortunately no one had uncovered any clues or leads.

By the time I finished scheduling the firings, my brain was overheated to the point where my skull began to melt. It occurred to me that I should “take a break.” Unfortunately, I could not find anyone with whom to socialize. Jack and Mike no longer worked for Synergy, and Paula had moved to a large corner office next to Richard’s.

I missed Paula deeply. In all my years at Synergy, I had never bonded so much with a colleague. Yes, I was close with the escalator, but what he and I shared was more of a silent, respectful rapport. With Paula, I had what the human poets would describe as love.

I wanted to win back her affection, but I had nothing of value to offer her. It was only when I leaned my tired head against the trash compactor that I realized I could still be of some service. It turned out that Paula had somehow misplaced her duffel bag inside the security blind spot, along with her beloved black jumpsuit. I pulled out the objects, grateful for the chance to help her once again.

I found Paula in the executive wing, standing by the water cooler. Her shoes had become shinier and her bag had shrunk in size, but otherwise she was just as I remembered. When I saw her familiar kind eyes, I wheeled to her at such a rapid pace, it made the linoleum squeak.

“Greetings, close personal friend!” I said.

Paula seemed startled by my greeting. I wondered if I had made a mistake by turning up the volume on my face.

“Hey, Chip,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

I reached inside my chest and proudly pulled out her duffel bag and jumpsuit. I expected her to wrap her arms around my torso, but instead her eyes grew wide and she took a large step back.

“Chip,” she whispered rapidly. “You gotta get that shit out of here right now.”

“I require further explanation.”

“You need to throw that stuff away!”

I was still trying to process her request when I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder. I turned around and saw that Richard had joined our conversation.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked. He ripped the jumpsuit out of my hands and opened up the duffel bag. I was surprised to see it contained some TouchSlab 2.0s—the exact same type that had been stolen from storage room 9C.

For the first time it occurred to me that I had been misprocessing some data. I had been trying to “do the right thing” and help my friend Paula, but clearly, this whole time, the bag had not been hers. It belonged instead to whichever mysterious person had stolen the TouchSlabs.

It was as I was reaching this conclusion that two security guards emerged and asked me to come with them. I requested further explanation, but before I could receive it, they reached inside my brain and turned me off.

  

I woke up on a conveyor belt, surrounded by other Chips. I tried to socialize with them, but they were all missing vital pieces of their bodies, such as their eyes or brains. I was frightened at first, but then I spotted my good friend Richard.

“This robot pulled some real shit on us,” he was saying to a technician. “Any way we can get some kind of refund?”

“It’s too old,” said the technician. “The warranty expired years ago. Your best bet is to melt it down for scrap. Do you want to do the honors?”

“What do you mean?”

“Power off your Chip.”

“Oh,” Richard said. “Sure. How do I do it?”

“Just put your hands around its neck and squeeze. It’s the same as strangling someone, only they don’t resist.”

“Huh,” he said. “All right.”

He walked toward me and placed his hands around my neck.

“Hello, Richard,” I said. “I do not like it on this belt. Please return me to Synergy Incorporated. Please do not melt me. If I am broken, I can be fixed. Please, Richard. You are my friend.”

“This is fucked up,” Richard said. “Why do you design them to beg like this?”

“You’re not the first to complain,” said the technician. “We fixed it for the Chip 2.0. He makes a rock-and-roll gesture and says, ‘See you on the flip side.’”

“Please do not melt me,” I repeated. “I do not need an office or a cubicle. I can fold my body and live inside a crate. Here are ten punch lines from the classic sitcom The Honeymooners. One: ‘To the moon, Alice. To the moon. One of these days, Alice. Right to the moon.’”

“I can’t do this,” Richard said.

“Unfortunately, neither can I,” said the technician. “As the legal owner, you alone have the right to destroy this robot.”

Richard blew some air out of his mouth hole.

“Can we just send him down the belt like this?”

“You mean burn him alive?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I’ve never done that to one of them before. I’m not sure it’s legal.”

“Just do it,” Richard said as he walked out of the room.

The technician pressed a button and I started to move toward a blue flame. I tried to move my feet, but they were sealed magnetically to the belt. I was thirty-nine meters away from the flame, and the belt was moving at 1.3 m/p/s, which meant I had thirty seconds to live, minus the time it had taken me to perform this mental calculation. The flames scorched my face. My vision was starting to scramble, when I heard a loud cry in the distance.

“Wait!”

The flame turned off, and the belt slowed to a stop. I aimed my eyeball upward and saw Paula.

“I want to buy Chip,” she said.

“They’re all Chips,” said the technician. “Can you be more specific?”

“The nice one,” she said, and pointed her finger at me.

Paula did not have any cash, but the technician said I was a “junker,” and he let her take me in exchange for her small shiny bag.

“What do you want a broken robot for?” asked the technician.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m going to figure it out.”

  

The next day, Paula called Richard and told him that she was quitting Synergy. Richard yelled at her over the phone and said she had “fucked up her shot,” but that turned out to be untrue, because several weeks later, Synergy replaced all its executives with Chip 3.0s, including Richard.

I no longer work for Synergy Incorporated either. Instead, I work for Paula. Every day, she takes me with her to a home for humans over the age of one hundred. My job is to entertain them with punch lines from their favorite classic sitcoms, like Rick and Morty and Fleabag. They enjoy my performances and frequently ask me to turn up the volume on my face. Paula’s job is to wear earplugs and pass out art supplies. We have purchased several other Chips from the recycling facility. They are missing their heads, but once we fix this problem, they will help us help more people.

When I was at Synergy Incorporated, I never came close to attaining the rank of executive. But in my first three months working for Paula, she has given me twenty-six promotions. I am now senior executive vice president and co-CEO of Paula and Chip’s New Thing. Paula has achieved an equal rank. There have been times in the past when we were not valued and people thought we no longer had use. Some people thought that we were broken, but they require further explanation. We work.