💾 Archived View for tilde.team › ~fudge › short-story-cereal.gmi captured on 2024-08-31 at 13:16:35. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
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A silly sci-fi story that just sort of appeared while I was getting up.
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The robot had seemed quite content when we bid each other goodnight, but the following morning I found it rigid and motionless before an open kitchen cupboard.
It looked as if it had been hypnotised by the bran flakes.
“You ok?” I asked its back.
The only sign of life was a whining fan - I didn't even know it had fans - but after a long moment it said, “hello.”
There was another long pause.
“I have encountered a problem I do not know how to solve: Sugar Coated Hoopies, or Bran Flakes?”
“You, um, don't need to eat, right?”
“Yes. I could forego cereal and ignore this problem, but then I would miss out on the satisfying crunching feelings.”
“Well, ok, so which one is better,” I reconsidered hastily, “which one do you like more?”
“I do not know... I do not know!”
It wasn't looking at me, but I still resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Let me guess,” said I, “you've been stood here applying each philosophical school of thought from a Wikipedia list, in order, hoping one of them will give you an answer? Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you!”
“Affirmative.”
“So, which style of philosophy do you like?”
It emitted a bit-crushed sigh, artfully modulated with exasperation, “I do not know that either!”
“Uh-huh, so what about if you pick a random number?”
“But what if they are wrong?” it said immediately, apparently already having considered this.
“Who, what?”
“What if the random number gives me the Wrong Answer?”
I wished I'd made coffee already.
“How could a random number be wrong?” I countered, “What would a wrong answer about breakfast cereal even look like?”
“Trivial proof that a Wrong Answer exists: setting the cereal on fire and feeding it to the cat.”
“Uhh,” did I want to encourage this line of analysis? “Are you sure that's a Wrong Answer?”
“Yes.”
Time to head for solid metaphysical ground, “Is there something you particularly like about one of them?”
“Both are so good!” it said, enraptured, “Hoopies have a hole in them. They exhibit a level of topological purity only exceeded by cheese footballs. Bran flakes...”
It had to stop and think.
“They are so boringly irregular. I have yet to find another food so notably mundane.”
I reached past it, “mmn, fair enough, I think I'll have bran flakes.”
“How did you make that choice?” it said, face inherently blank, but I suspected it was a little put out.
“Uhh,” I knew I didn't have a satisfying answer, “vibes?”
It's fans whirred in the silence.
Eventually it slumped, “Then I will have bran flakes too.”
It was too early for me to process everything, so I deferred to future me and hoped the benefit of caffeine would somehow help.
“I'm putting the kettle on,” I told it, “Want something? Tea, coffee?”
Suddenly there was a cold metal hand on my shoulder.
It tugged me round until it could optically probe the depths of my soul.
“No thank you,” it said with finality, “I have solved enough hard problems this morning. I will take my cereal, solve matrices, and finish my 1:2048 scale model of a 16th century caravel made from spaghetti.”
“Sometimes I wish I shared you're idea of ‘difficult’,” I told its back as it stomped away.
Status displays updated in an approximation of a wry smile.
“Then we would both be stuck in front of the cereal cupboard,” it said.