So you want to be a robot ...

Neil First day new job

9am, 1120 Orvel Ave, big red brick warehouse, ask for Ruzo or was it Rizzo? Dammit Neil, you're a bot, you have the text in memory somewhere. Ruzzo, ask for Ruzzo.

Here it is, large red brick warehouse, with a giant number 3 on the side. Sort of hard to miss in hindsight, though also not exactly subtle. Also, why is it so quiet? Not even an attendant or loading crew in sight anywhere. Maybe it's between shifts? Anyhow, it's almost 9, I should head in.

The lobby is little more than a dry walled box with a drop ceiling, very 2001 small town industrial park. How the hell can they buy out my contract when this office costs less than the bolts in my arm?!  A small very humanoid bot in grey plastic sits behind a plain wooden desk, the face entirely covered with a digital display showing an animated face. A chipper feminine voice perks up, "Mr Philips? Right on time, Ruzzo is expecting you".

"Oh.. well.. thank you. Where..where should I meet him exactly?" I reply. The grey bot's slender plastic hand motions towards the only door along the beige painted walls. Why on earth would they stick to such an old stigma for a receptionist? Haven't we outgrown these ideas? That said..this whole place looks like something out of a late 90's sitcom, hopefully I don't live to regret this decision.

I push the door, it doesn't move. "Oh sorry", the chipper receptionist chimes in again, "I'll need to get that for you". The sound of large electric wasp fills the room as the simple wooden door slides right into the wall exposing a long brightly lit hallway of stainless steel doors and concrete floors. Each door I pass is noted with black alphanumeric codes, A106, A101, I proceed down the hall. She didn't tell me which room? 

A door slides open near the end of the hall. An imposing figure steps into the hall. Dark blue tattered and stained welding jacket, a heavy bright silver zipper done up to their chin covering grease covered torn jeans. Scruffy stubble and a closely shaven head of the same length contrasting his swirl of grey blue eyes simultaneously bright and deep, hurricanes awaiting landfall on the morning news.  "Neil Philips", his raspy voice thunders in the sterile hallway. "Y..yes sir, I'm Neil. Are you Ruzzo?" why do I always stammer, I really need that feature disabled. A rhythmic timpani of boisterous chuckle fills the hall, "there's no need for formalities here Neil, and I'm certainly not worth getting your wires crossed". Ruzzo towers,  his hands on his hips, he motions towards the black abyss through the door as he turns to the right, "follow me Neil, let's get things sorted out here".

The door drops us into an entirely different world from the sterile hallway and cardboard box lobby. Chattering tools at every dark green steel workbench, surrounded by chips and dust of the cork tabletops wearing down. Directed bright white lights bathe only the benches in use, darkness filling the empty corners. We pass all of the stations to the far end of the room. Ruzzo drops onto a grey steel stool behind the sole grey steel bench. Brightly lit, surrounded by 3 matching steel stools and a single black computer monitor and keyboard. Ruzzo pecks a few buttons when..

*ping*

What now? Oh he's sending a secure chat request? We're sitting across from each other?

*ping*

< chat accepted >