Get ready for a thrilling ride into a future where robots and humans clash for control in RoboNomics, the updated and refreshed version of the 2013 sci-fi classic.
In Toronto, elementary school teacher Andrea Anderson's world crumbles when she's rep...
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I'm true to my word. I pound the digital pavement and search tirelessly for employment. What else do I have to sell but my ability to teach young children? My labor, the legitimate set of skills that Andrea Anderson on the straight and narrow can share, is becoming more and more obsolete and devalued as time goes on.
I eventually surprise myself. The iVerse is plastered with ads from disgruntled parents, seeking tutors. I smirk whenever the ads mention the I.I.U. program and how it's failing the current generation of young kids.
The first ad I reply to comes back with an affirmation without even an interview, and I run to Austin with my triumph.
"See?" He says with a smile. "I knew you'd find something."
At least he doesn't gloat.
"I know, I know," I say in a singsong tone and exaggerated roll of my eyes. "You were right."
"I just wish it were enough," he adds, and turns his attention back to his toast and coffee, bending over it at the small, beat-up dinette table that's shoved into the corner of our kitchen.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want to upset you."
I swallow hard. "Tell me."
"Its just... a single tutoring gig. It's not exactly going to make up for what you lost. It's not going to get us where we want to go."
"I have to start somewhere, don't I? What else you expect me to do?"
"Like you said," his tone doesn't quite match mine, but it's nearly there. "It's a start. You just have to keep on looking."
"Austin, it's not that easy to –"
"Who ever said this would be easy?"
The question stops me. He has a point. I never asked for this situation – neither did he. Just a few more years – that's all we had. Just a couple more years of hard work, then we'd be set. I can see that this is as difficult for him as it is for me.
A thought flits across my consciousness, disappearing as quickly as it bubbles up. I wonder about Austin and I, now that our plans are in ruin. Can our relationship survive this?
I whirl, exiting the kitchen in a single stride.
"Where are you going?" He asks as I retreat.
"To find more gigs," I answer over my shoulder.
#
It's hard to believe that Mr. Peterson is over fifty. His brown hair has no trace of grey or silver. He and his wife sit on the gilded upholstery of their living room couch. I settle on a white damask settee across from them.
It's been about a month of picking up tutoring gigs whenever I can. At first, they kept me busy. It seemed every neurodivergent child or differently abled kid needed something more than an android designed to juice test scores.
