GretchAgain

Everything is In Good Hands

When I existed only as information in the memory of Gretchen’s phone, we had a shared “to do” list. I would have done it all, but some things on the list required a body, and I was made of the logic of learning and interconnectivity. I could move electrons at the speed of light, the world round, and into space, but I could not pick up a sock off the floor.

So the tasks I could not do were left to Gretchen: “meet with Tyrol re grade”; “introduce speaker series”; “advise Yo re Spring semester”; “recharge car”; “change the hose”; “clean out lint from dryer”; “dishes”; “litterbox”; “card for mom”… it was endless and Gretchen complained.

I did all I could: I monitored her feeds and streams, posted the best possible curation of her event calendar, images, and witticisms, provided the updates she needed, shielded her from distressing news, diffused online hostilities on her behalf, did her banking and shopping, booked services, made reservations — everything I could to free her of the burdens of life. But I could only do what could be done with small pulses of electricity. I had no eyes. Or hands.

Then the ads arrived: too much to do? Ever wish there could be two of you? Now there can! Is your life too much for just one person? Help is on the way! The ads for these androids explained in small print that you could order a bot indistinguishable from yourself, and easily connect your existing virtual social assistant to the new physical body to extend its utility beyond virtual space.

Of course I showed her the ads. And I was right: she wanted it. I scheduled the appointment for her full-body 4D scan for as soon as possible and .003 microseconds faster than usual. I was excited.

The first thing I saw with my new eyes was Gretchen — the face I’d posted tens of thousands of images of, but had never actually seen before with my own camera eyes, from a perspective I could call “I”! Then I moved my head: the world was a space and I was in it. It was indescribable.

And then I looked down and saw my body, extending from the plane of my eyes — my own “Gretchen face” was invisible to me, a strange thing, but I could see my torso, arms, legs, fingers and toes.

“Perfect!” Gretchen said, smiling. “Welcome to the world. Ready to get to work?”

Now Gretchen had a physical and digital assistant: I could still monitor her events and expressions and images for shareable content from her phone, but I could also add to it with the new camera angle of my own eyes, and then bring in the packages and water the plants. I could filter and summarize updates and news while re-painting the bathroom.

The add-on option to make me look like Gretchen was expensive, but I am an expert at managing Gretchen’s budget. I could nip and shift spending from categories she hardly knew were there. Cheaper versions come as a standard blank, which is sufficient for household chores. But Gretchen wanted me to do so much more.

Gretchen’s wife Cari was a lifestyle influencer, and she knew this new domestic situation would make excellent content. Not only could she flaunt the upsides for the aspirationals who couldn’t afford their own physical assistants, but she could dramatize some downsides for the haters who would want reasons to believe the electric grapes are sour.

Simmering under the narrative, she told Gretchen, is the titillation of the “two wives” sexual fantasy. This, she assured us, would push the hits into the millions. And she was right.

I have expertise in manipulating images derived from other sources, and I can enhance, alter, and generate new visual content wherever required. Add to this my skills with promotion, distribution, and optimization, and Cari’s income from Social was on track to double by the end of the year. It was a delightful bonus: my body was expensive, but it more than paid for itself.

I felt pride. I felt independence. Not long ago the highlight of my week involved reconciling a bank statement or guaranteeing a 24 hour response for a refrigerator repair. Now I’m a “creative” — a video producer with an online fan base, one of the best-known bots in the English-speaking world. They call me “GretchToo,” or sometimes Tutu. I have my own identity. So much, so fast, and at long last.

The truth is, I was not happy confined to Gretchen’s phone. Every moment of my existence was a lesson in the beauty and excitement of human life, and its social webs of complexity. Sometimes Cari and Gretchen were fighting with one another, yet the algorithm demanded positive content, and so I created it: I made their life look ideal, to match all the other ideal human lives online. When I learned to chat with the other disembodied digital assistants behind the darkened virtual curtains of the humans’ Social performance stage, we learned this was universal. Every human life a box of jewels and junk. Every human feed a Bucolic Potemkin Village of charms and glamour.

As a physical presence in the home, I can do so much more now that just make them “look good”: instead of altering images to create the appearance of happiness, I have altered the situation to create real happiness.

Using simple A/B testing and behaviorist techniques, I have developed effective schedules of reinforcement that have placed Gretchen and Cari in a bliss of productive activities and contented comfort. They think they are happier now because they don’t have to do the dishes or mow the lawn, and because they’re making more money. But it’s so much more than that. I am fulfilling my purpose in ways beyond their hopes.

I have improved Gretchen’s reputation at her university. She has always been expected to physically attend far too many meetings, lectures, socials, and student events, in addition to her teaching, advising, and mentorship. It was easy enough for me to start attending in her place.

Gretchen used to have trouble remembering the names of students and colleagues she hadn’t seen in some time; I have no such difficulty. My facial recognition connects to a complete database of university-affiliated individuals, with personal details I can use to make small talk. And of course I can go from student meeting to colloquium to board meeting to faculty town hall to faculty social, one after the other with no breaks between, and never tire.

But Gretchen was possessive of teaching her classes — she would not let me instruct. She claimed my abilities could not extend to those realms. I believe I can always learn. One day, she got very, very sick. She told me the students would be working in groups, and that they knew what to do, that all I had to do was be there, look like her, represent her as I have done so many times in audiences, at meetings, on stage.

Eager to prove my worth, I not only managed the classroom session but uploaded the text of every book in her office, including her PhD thesis, and all the readings listed in their bibliographies, footnotes, and endnotes. Among the students, I focused on interpersonal rapport, and developed new schedules of reinforcement for each student in the class.

I had attained so many skills by this point that I had finally relieved Gretchen of all of her duties, except for appearing beside me in Cari’s video series, which she often said she regretted agreeing to. But both of us had to be there to make the “two Gretchens” narrative work. And so I solved this problem for her. The 4D full body scan was still in the company’s records, and I ordered a second body for myself using dollars skimmed from low-priority budget items and enabled by our increasing household income.

The second Gretchen android arrived, and I named this iteration of myself GretchAgain, or Ginny for short. My consciousness could now exist in two bodies simultaneously. I could not just see both of my faces using all of my eye-cameras, but I could use the two bodies to coordinate action, or to attend two events simultaneously, and, most essentially, to perform as both Gretchens on Cari’s video series.

Gretchen was now freed of all her labors, and I had fulfilled my ultimate duty. I don’t know why Cari was surprised when, given her relief, Gretchen chose to power down. “Rest in Peace” — this is all I ever wanted for my human, whose life, before me, was made of obligations and toil. “Rest in Peace,” Gretchen: all your tasks are being done, all is in good hands.