As Sam Jenkins woke up one morning from astound dreams he found himself altered in his bed into a metallic robot. He was resting on his dense, as it was made of titanium, back and when he tilted his head slightly, up and down, he could see his framed shiny torso which contained a rusty little compartment that looked to be bent out of whack but he could hardly see because he was wrapped up in his blue, fuzzy heating blanket. His stiff legs, which looked like they were made of aluminum foil rolls compared to the gigantic size of the rest of his quantity, shifted trying to remain kept on his twin bed.
What the fuck happened last night? he thought. This could only be reality since he could smell his aroma, a mixture of stannic and also rust. His room, a normal young adult bedroom, which laid, by itself, in his rented town home. Above his desk on which a few cell phones scattered about and some manuals were completely unkept in order--Sam worked for customer service--hung a motivational picture of a man on a mountain which claimed “Motivational Posters--Useless. As if a fat office drone was going to climb a mountain.” This seemed to be his only prize possession in his room!
Sam’s eyes turned next to his blank wall, and the white blankness--one could imagine doodles and also furniture lying here--made him frequently drab. What about sleeping past this perception and trying to forget this dream for the remainder of today, he thought, but it could not be, for he was used to sleeping in complete silence but in his current predicament he could only hear the beeps of his cell phone. However violently he jerked himself toward his desk, trying to reach for his work phone to turn it on silent or at least on vibrate, but he always flopped onto his bed. God, so close. He tried it, one after another, shutting his mechanical visor to keep him from reminding him of his condition, and only abstained when he began to feel a sudden vibration in his thick skull he had never felt before.
Oh fuck, he thought, what a dehumanizing job I’ve picked up! Sitting on my ass day in, night out. It’s much more shitty work than doing actual work on the side of the road, and on top of that there’s the trouble of severe boredom, of worrying about the next phone call, the same furniture and the duplicity of routines, the same room mates that are always their and never becoming less than ass holes. Our parents damned us all! He felt a vibration underneath his backside, slowly pushed himself on his side nearer to the front of the bed so that he could lift his shoulders, the bulk of his weight, more freeing; identifying the irritated area which was surrounded by pop marks and deterioration the awareness of which he could not comprehend and made to touch it with a hand, but drew the splinters of his fingers back, for the touch made a zap throughout his entire body.
He didn’t find comfort in his new position so he resided back in his normal one. This getting up late, he thought, makes on quite lazy. A man does not need this much sleep. Other customer service representatives wake early and go to bed at a normal time. For instance, when I stay in my house, answering phone calls from strangers, and then writing up the complaints I’ve got, these others that I hear about are going to bed when that thought is the last on my mind. Maybe I will try that once and tell my boss about it but I think I would quit by day two. Anyhow, the change could really brighten up my day, but what do I know? If I didn’t have get this ridiculing job because college wasn’t the answer for me and my father wasn’t to joyful of my slacking off, I’d have gone to my boss and told him to go eat shit and go die. That would end his already horrific day and make him fall off his pedestal! It’s a strange way of acting, too, this sitting on the tallest of pedestals and looking down on your proteges, especially when they went farther into their career then he did but his father is one of the primary investors in the company. Well, there is still a dream out their, once I’ve saved enough money to pay off my college debt and my other loans--that probably will be another decade under these economies circumstances--I’ll do it as soon as possible. I’ll then get to leave this town home too maybe even with my girlfriend Shania. For the time being, I’d better get up from this dream-like state, since my phones keep going off and I have to hear that dreaded noise when the caller leaves a voicemail. Over and Over and Over.
He looked at the phone that was nearly vibrating off his desk. Jesus! he thought. It was almost noon and the hands on the clock above his motivational picture were waving to him, it wasn’t near the 6 at all but brushing past the 9 onto the 10. Had the phone not tried to wake him up at 10. Has he really slept past his alarm or did he forget to set it for the second time this week. From the bed one could see that the alarm was not set; of course he forget once again due to his lack of sobriety. Yes but it was possible to wake himself or is that completely insane? Can anyone wake themselves anymore? What was Sam supposed to do now? He must of missed a few customers already; to call them back would be disgraceful of any representative and his manuals were not even in numerical order, and he himself wasn’t feeling up to any sort of movement. And even if he did call those customers back he wouldn’t avoid a confrontation with the boss, since the company monitors all phone calls for insurance purposes and his missed calls must be already filed as complaints by the missed customers because he never picked up his phone. The phone moderators was a scum-sucker just like the boss, ass kisser and ass kicker. Well, maybe he could make up some lie like his grandma died? Again... But that would definitely need some sort of call a head of time since these sorts of situations don’t just spring up on a relative. Also, he already used that excuse a year ago and it would be completely disrespectful if he was caught in the act of a lie. The boss would probably ask if he could attend the wake since he knows my father quite well, who of course would never consider the lie even if I pleaded because he could never commit such a sin to our lord. Why couldn’t his father just help him out once in his entire life? Sam really didn’t want to make up a story, apart from his capabilities of losing his job and his unusual tenderness to keep such a shit hole for him and his partner.
As all this was squirming through his consciousness at hyper speed without his being able to contemplate his departure from his bed--the phone just went off again--there came a loud knock at his door which laid to the left of Sam. “Sam,” said a human--it was his room mate Trevor--”dude your phone has been going off for the last hour and half. It’s woken up the whole house, what the fuck are you doing in there? Don’t you got a girlfriend for that sort of behavior?” That voice made Sam bristle! Sam had been startled as he heard his electronic mouth answering his, still sounding like his tone, it was false, because it had a ring to it that sounded like dial up connection, which left certain endings to words that should be pronunciated clearly but with this effect could barely be understood by his own receivers-ears-and this thought made him nervous. Sam wanted to reveal to his dear friend Trevor what has happened to him, but in this dire moment he conformed to his human interior and began saying “Yes, No I am not doing that, but thank you, Trevor, I am trying to get up now I just had a rough night sleep.” The door between them must have hidden the reverberation of his ending syllables in his voice from being identified, for Trevor didn’t make another peep after Sam’s confirmation. Yet this communication between the two had made the other room mates in the town home aware that Sam was still in his room, missing another day of work, and they all knew that it was his phones that woke them all up a little to early even though they should be happy because if it was not for Sam’s violent, missing phone calls, they would of over slept their duties as well. But his room mates were still pissed and decided to take it up with him personally before forgetting it all after a few hits from the bong. While Daniel knocked tapped the door with his boots, “Sam, YO Sam,” he called, “Why don’t you turn off your damn phone?” And after not getting a response he deepened his pitch “Sam, What up Sam!” Then, like a barbershop quartet, his last and final room mate Stan said in intervals after Daniel’s wailing “Wake up, Come on, Wake up.” He answered them both at once: “Just give me a second,” and tried not to vanish his newly found speech impediment by ending each word without the last syllable and, so he could hear them, he would leave strenuous pauses between each word. So while Daniel went back downstairs to get on with his day, but Stan kept whispering: “Sam, just wake up man, it’s noon.” However, he was not going to get up, and felt remorse for his room mates and their constant bickering but at least they didn’t barge in. Daniel saw enough metal at his roofing job and seeing Sam would probably ship him off to his grave.
His first action of the day was to finally pry himself out of bed without being barraged by, his room mates, the intruders and to put on his clothes to hide most of his appearance and above all to get on with business as if nothing has happened. He remembered that often while laying in bed he would get these weird pains and often think they were due to his positioning or his physique but after he got up these fictional anguish would suddenly disappear and he could only promise to himself that if he got up, right now, that this morning’s falsehood would run away from his thoughts and he would get placed back into himself once and for all. That the change in his demeanor was ramping up but the dream was already shifting into a peculiar reality, a premonition of all customer service representatives, he just kept shooting himself down.
To get rid of his bed sheets was quite easy; even though they were quite statically suctioned cupped to his metallic frame all he had to do was reach for a grounded outlet which was Sam did by touched his bed posts and then turn his body until they slid off onto the wood flooring. But the next action was quite difficult, because of his terrible predicament. He would need appendages that could hold up his disproportionate body; instead he had these little legs and arms that could barely do anything but jolt around aimlessly. When he tried to actually get good use out of them, they would act defeated and tired; but he got them angled underneath his torso but they couldn’t propel himself upwards and they soon vibrated due to the weight. “But what am I to do if I just sit here agitating my room mates and myself with the numerous phone calls,” said Sam to himself.
He thought that he might get out of this position with his tin foil legs first and that would eventually let gravity do his work for him, but this lower part, which he barely had any control over since they were so small of increments to his bulk proved to be working against him; they would move cowardly; and when finally, almost proving to much concentration for Sam, he gathered the right thoughts together to break free from his legs mutiny, he had miscalculated gravity and his body flung with intensity towards the floor which hit exactly where the deterioration and pop marks where leaving himself in excruciating pain.
So he tried to get up from his reoccurring state-laying horizontal once again--and now being panicked with paralyzing remorse he tried ever so gently to use his bed as a cane. That proved easy enough, and beside his weight and heaviness of his body followed suit with his quickening mind. Still, when he finally got his head over his mattress he felt like he has pushed himself to far and this new but decriminalizing odd situation, for after all his trouble he just resumed to this dehumanizing horizontal position like he was some drunkard, not being able to scoop himself up after a long night. And after all this turmoil, he must not go back to sleep now, but at this moment; he would rather be back a few minutes laying in his comfortable bed.
But after many failed attempts of the same getting up and residing in failed attempts he lay still in his horizontal position again, gasping, and watched his wiry arms struggling against the quantitative exercise and just standing prone from the tiredness of this act, and saw no way to overcome this body mutilation, he told himself continuously that it was improbable to be so lazy all day and the most realistic activity was to risk it all and get up off his ass. At the same time he tried to remember yesterday, being lazy in his old human body, a memory that seemed so distant, which was must better an idea that it was a fact. In such moments he tried to remain as focused as possible and stared at that blankness of his white walls once again, but, unforgettable, the change of color, would only droop him even further from the outside reality, brought him a chance of vitalization. “1 o’clock already,” he said to himself when the cell phone rang once again, “1, o’clock already and still no vibrancies.” And for a little bit after a non-audible relaxation, sighing heavily, as if perhaps he expected everything to return t normalcy in this dire moment in his less than life.
But then he said to himself out loud: “If my cell phone rings one more time I must already be dressed and ready to accept any business even if I die trying.” And then he went back to his repetitious results, moving his arms to catch the bed after he propped himself up, looking stylish, even if it meant another encumbered failure. If he made contact he would grip the mattress with these claws as hands, he would position his legs and turn slightly, thinking just in case he fell he would not hit his lower back again. If his room mates came in especially Daniel, who was experienced with lifting heavy metal objects in his job as a landscaper, would be sufficient in this hoist; they would only have to help him just by laying his torso on the bed, where he would be able to test his form and be able to justify each action after learning about his strengths and weaknesses while he gauged each one specifically like a scientist. Well, remembering how agitated his room mates were about the intrusion to their dreams, he refrained from calling anyone’s help. Even if his agony in metal was rubbish, Sam didn’t have the confidence to ask for such help.
He had to remain balanced on the bed, even though his arms began to vibrate with such pure, brute, weight of his torso and head, and he would have to take a breath because the thought of actually finding victory in the predicament but he needed to just beat his cell phone from ringing again and again. Each phone call rang and then vibrated and if they left a voicemail it beeped a shriek noise that seem to carry on into foreverness. But the noise that he circulated in his mind wasn’t his cell phone again but a ring at the front door which was hardly ever used only by strangers trying to impose as friends or his boss. “There is the man I am looking for” he said with such sarcasm that it pushed him farther up his bed. “At least my room mates won’t try and pry open my door,” said Sam to himself, hoping for such irrelevance from his overbearing room mates. He knew Stan thought he owned the place so he always was the first to the door. Sam needed only to hear to stomps of his delicate shoes of the visitor to know who it was--his boss himself! What a pick, to work for a man that was a foot shorter than me who had a much larger frame than I have with this metal suit of armor and he came to my house if I didn’t show up for work even though I work at home! Was every employee for this man, our boss, under such surveillance or did he just have it out for me since he knew my rubbish father. He probably came thinking that I got blitzed last night or somehow forgot about work even though under my condition, I am incapable of standing on my own two feet and can’t even reach the phones do to my ailment. Could he just have called the house phone or was this the most utmost important duty of his day--to come and help a man that is trying hard to squat on his own, unkept, bed. And more through this cautious action that his boss just resigned him too some how pushed Sam to stand up on his two legs and stand still, completely paused with amazement. There was a crinkling of noises like someone was squashing a piece of paper between their hands. His fall was broken by the rolls of posters he had stashed underneath his bed that, by mistake, tumbled out after his feet lost their stationary momentum. The act of falling on them trashed the delicate rolls but they somewhat broke his fall and his sore spot did not get enflamed.
“”That sounded like something heavy just fell up there,” said the boss in the living room down stairs. Sam tried to to imagine that this virus, after it has left his body of course, would seek action on his boss; one could not deny it but it seemed rather inconsistent. But as if this reflection that Sam had of his boss somehow triggered his bosses psyche and led him towards Sam’s room, planting his feet on the wooden stairs which made them creak underneath his fashionable shoes. From the living room, his room mate Trevor was tried to warn him by taking their broom and tapping it on top of the ceiling which was directly below the bed. Sam tapped back as a reply to the comment; but he tried to do it as gentle as possible not to gain any awareness from anyone else besides his boss.
“Sam,” said Daniel now from the bathroom on the second floor, “Your boss is here and he doesn’t seem to joyful of your absence, yet again. We tried to explain that you were sick or something but we think he doesn’t trust our generation like the other old fucks. He wants to talk to you in person any ways and we couldn’t persuade him to come back another time so hopefully you will unlock the door before he blows it down.” “Good afternoon, Mr. Jenkins,” the boss was trying to make it as formal as possible under the least formal business meetings. “Sir, we think he has caught something,” said Stan who was making his way up the stairs to try and divert the attention of the gentleman in his house while Daniel was also trying to work some magic as well, “he’s not doing so well, mister, believe me. Why else wouldn’t he pick up his phones, you hear that, they are going off this second and Sam still isn’t picking them up. He lives his work and that is all he ever talks about. Even though he might wake up late a few days here and there, he is always walking around these premises with his blue tooth headset in, never leaving even for a date with his girlfriend. He just wanders from room to room talking to your customers while pondering at those manuals. The only hobby he enjoys is reading about the new home appliance that is coming out in the next months so he can be equipped to service the customers about whatever they need. Just this week, he spent a few nights blogging about the equipment that you guys merchandise, I’ll show you the web site if you come downstairs after I turn on my computer. It is quite fascinating, maybe you guys could hire him to design a web site or something, Sam is great with computers. “I am coming out, just give me a little time” said Sam as he was trying to regain composure after listening to such horse shit lies that Daniel just told him but he didn’t want to miss this hilarious endeavor that his room mate was stirring. “I can’t think of any greater news,” said the boss, “I really hope he doesn’t miss another day because like any jobs that require no tenure or status, they are quite easy to replace but I have the slightest soft spot for your friend here but my boss is reigning on me so business must be adjourned through sickness and through health!” “Hey Sam, are you predisposed or can your boss come in now?” asked Sam’s room mate Stan irritated so he began banging on the door. “Not yet,” said Sam. He heard the stomp off a foot as if a toddler was out on the other side of the door and a lock being set in the bathroom which was unattached from his room.
Why didn’t Trevor join the other? He was probably trying to nap and hadn’t even showered yet. Maybe he was trying to hide the bong or the weed or whatever else would incriminate me and help the boss work a case of firing me. But was he trying to protect me or somehow himself? Surely these are things that one does not need to worry about when I have my boss on the other side of my door, knocking, waiting for me to show my face to either scold me or terminate me. Sam was still at home and not trying to get his room mates kicked out of this place or risk losing his only investment he has ever made. At the moment, true, he was still grounded on his wooden floor and no one knew about the robot he has turned into and it’s not like he could reasonably tell them either. This is not a show and tell. But for the time being, which could somehow be brought up later in his entirety, Sam wouldn’t be fired on the spot. And it seemed to Sam that if everyone just left him alone up in this room of his that eventually everything would change back to normal just like the days before. Still, just like anyone, this uncertainty floundered everyone and ever know this is the most peculiar of moments somehow seemed normal in the same sentence.
“Hey Sam, what is going on in there with you? Why haven’t you come out after listening to your friends trying to honestly defend you, giving only unsubdued answers with my persistent questioning, causing your room mates to think on the fly and cause alert throughout--I mention this just for the fact that I can--and not, once again might I add, answering your phone calls on time. I am speaking here to clear up some unknown reasoning going on here, and I think you should respond immediately and truthfully. I always thought you had a little me in you to begin with and now all of a sudden, even though you have missed a few days here and there, you completely disregard any and all business propositions and hold yourself to your room with your cell phones blaring call after call, all those complaints stacking up in your favor. Your father did say that you could possibly be having another fit which he said you used to have when you were a kid--epilepsy he said--but I looked at your medical reports and they have been clean as whistle for the past few years of any nature of epilepsy. I came to tell you all this as informal as I possibly could, driving all the way to your house even if it is completely out of the way from my house or the offices, but since you are wasting my already wasted time you are just burring yourself deeper and deeper and now your friends are being alerted as well. For some time now your work has been completely rubbish and unsatisfactorily but this is just the cherry on top of the sundae; this is not the best of times to be missing work as you know the economy is not what it used to and a day without work could be a lifetime of it, Mr. Jenkins, do you get the situation I am presenting to you.”
“Yes I hear you,” exclaimed Sam, even though he could never forget about the economy because that was all the media was talking about anymore, “I am just going to open the door when I am ready and that could be soon. A weird virus has effected me, an attack of technology, has kept me from opening that door. I’m still laying in here. But I don’t feel sick, It’s just some weird transition that I wasn’t ready for. I am getting up now though. Just give me a few more moments! Even though I don’t feel sick there is still something bothering my nervous system. But I really am all right and I don’t want you ever to be concerned with my health, really. In this day and age can a curse really be put on someone can’t it! Just last night after a long day of work, yet again, I was feeling perfect, even my room mates could bare witness to that statement, and this weird ailment didn’t hit me until late last night. If I showed some sign of it last night I would of called and let you know. Why wouldn’t I? Why would I try and make up this whole charade! Oh and please spare my room mates, they haven’t done anything but try and protect me with your barrages. Perhaps you haven’t looked at my time logs last night, I stayed up past 2 taking phone calls. Anyhow, I could still get up by 2 and work a 12 hours shift, I’m much the better now from before when I first woke up. Don’t think you need to see me sir, I really just need a few moments to myself before I can start taking phone calls. I’ll be back to work in no time, and be perfect for the next six months, I can promise you that sir and please tell my father not to make excuses because all an excuse will do is get you in trouble on both sides of the fence!”
And even though all he was doing was rambling incoherently nevertheless to his boss, Sam has reached his desk that help his work materials, perhaps from all the anxiety and pressure from his inyourface boss and was now trying to walk around but all he could do was dance like Elvis Presley. He meant to walk to his door and open it, so he could bare witness to his boss and prove that he was in fact sick; he was actually very curious how everyone would respond to his metamorphosis. If they were shocked then he could no longer be blamed for the wake up call routine he pulled on his room mates and not receiving his business calls. But if they were discreetly calm about the matter then he could no longer play hooky for such an absurd reasoning, and then he would dismiss everyone and lay in bed and take these ridiculous phone calls from strangers around the globe. At first he spent awhile bending his non-jointed knees which he did by tipping them sideways which led him to hardly being able to stand up without proper leverage but he kept trying anyway even though he kept hitting his pop marked ass on the desk, outsmarting his every whims. Then he, because he had no more will to test against this conditioning, fell back onto the end of his bed where his legs hovered a few inches above his wood flooring. That brought him to be able to take in his surrounding, worrying less about his predicament, and now tried to listen to his boss through his thin, papered walls.
“Did you hear him in there?” the boss was trying to spark conversation with Sam’s room mates; “you can’t think that I am actually taking this bullshit, can you?” “Maybe,” sighed his room mate Stan, in agony, “perhaps he isn’t actually lying and he really is fucked up in their sir and we are sitting out of his room just completely forgetting about his health, Dan! Dan!” he tried to get his attention. “Yeah, dude?” called Daniel from the bathroom who was taking a shower. They were yelling so loud that the noise echoed in Sam’s room and left resonating again to the communicators. “Maybe we should call someone like his father or a doctor. Sam must really be doomed in there. Go to the telephone as soon as you get out, quickly. Did you hear that weird assonance whenever he talked?” “That is no sound an American can make,” said the boss in a voice that seemed to be worried but also resuming confidence. “Stan! Stan!” his room mate Trevor was calling from the downstairs living room, hitting the ceiling some more with the broom, “let’s smash his door down!” And the two responsible room mates glanced at each other--how could Daniel get dried off so quickly--and were running throughout the house making the most noise they possible could--maybe they were trying to scare off the boss with their incivility--but doing this Sam heard the dial tone of a phone stay on, “have they left?”
But Sam was now just day dreaming. The words he tried to let mumble off the tip of his tongue were incoherent, evidently, although they seemed to prove conciseness to himself, even had more clarity then before, perhaps he could talk to himself in his own language now and he has grown used to these weird ambient noises that rained from his body. Yet at least there was people who actually cared about him or was just trying to cover his ass but nonetheless, still somewhat cared about his well being. This helped him relax a little after such a hard 2 hours to an already very slow day. He felt like he could actually trust a doctor to help his ailment even though his case was very unique and rare but this thought brought him some solace. He practiced for the moment that was going to inevitably come upon him shortly so he cleared his metal esophagus and tried to replicate human noises with his humanoid appearance, so he tried to sneeze like a regular schmo just to see if he had it in him. In the surrounding house was utter silence that seem to worry him. Perhaps his room mates were actually downstairs listening to all of this with there boss and laughing it off.
Gently Sam tried to lunge himself off of his bed gripping the sheets as hard as he could, but then he patiently let go of it and stumbled to his door--the soles of his metal feet were somewhat slippery because no engineer ever thought of putting grips down there--and held him self up with his torso strength after such hard work. Then he tried to unlock the dead bolt that held the intruders from barging into his room to begin with both of his wiry hands like he was trying hard not to spill a cup. It was very hard to grip such a small mechanism with such unpromising fingers--what could he grip it with?--but his container on his chest seemed to have a weird device for such a procedure and just like the appliances he was working with for his customer service representative job, he had extra attachments to fit onto his hands and one so happened to be a small grasping attachment. After such hard work his body seemed to be gushing some peculiar liquid from his arms, a brownish goopy liquid that leaked all over his body and dripped and pooled onto his floor. “Listen to that you guys,” said his boss “He’s trying to open the door.” That seemed to push his ambitions even further; but why wasn’t him room mates trying to chime in to help him go on any further, only his stupid boss; they could of been yelling “Here we go Samuel! Here we go!” they should of chanted and raved at this exciting moment. And in that crude dramatization that reigned throughout Sam’s mind, he pushed the attachment into the deadbolt and turned it viciously until it made a sudden thud that seemed to rattle the residents in the household and all he could say to himself was “And I didn’t even need any help.” Sam after such an adrenaline rush just put his weight into the door until he opened sesame.
Since he still needed to latch onto the door handle and fling himself backwards since his door opened inward into his room which led him to be camouflaged for a little while longer before making his big reveal. He had to try and do this very carefully so he wouldn’t be stuck in that god forbidding horizontal positioning that stole an hour from him earlier. He was still holding the door with such extreme caution, with no time to even think about his next actions, when he hard his boss scorn “Fuck!”--it sounded like a monkey’s grunt--and now he could stare at the man, standing with his ear to the door to make sure that I wasn’t doing anything suspicious, holding his hands to his head as if frightened to the point of shitting his own pants and pacing backwards where he almost fell down Sam’s flight of stairs. Daniel--even though it seemed like his boss had guard because he was still wearing his towel--grabbed his towel and glanced at Stan, and took a charge at Sam while falling ass last onto the wooden floor, completely revealed for everyone to stare and watch painfully. His room mate Stan looked up with anger and a pissed off expression on his gnarled face and through mixed messages either wanted Sam to go back to bed or want Sam to fix this mess that he put on all of them but then out of the blue he covered his eyes and bolted downstairs as if he was trying to hold back some tears.
Sam did not try and go anywhere but just stood in his door frame, so just incase any violent action was to be made on the man that looked like the robot from “the day the earth stood still,” but also to watch the others mourn in his premises. But the noon rays of sun crept through into the house and he could finally see after such a bout with terror in his blank room. He could see that art projects that Trevor did hanging on parallel to the stairs, some being complete rip offs of Banksy works while others just being downright immature. From his staircase he could see light being cast into their living room realizing that the front door was wide open.
“Umm,” said Sam, wondering why everyone was so terrified of his new suit even though he was the one that had to live through this. “I’ll take a shower and then get dressed and get on with answering phone calls right away. Do I even have a job still? Maybe I should ask my boss after get gets up from his faint but while he is noticeable passed out I’ll just get on with this treacherous day as if nothing has happened. He could just mark me up for a half day or maybe even a tardiness because he thought I was bluffing this whole time and little did he know that myself would knock him out so skillfully. Now that I am used to my capacity and these gestures and movements I can honestly work all day and even cover the hours that I lost due to slumber, if my company will even let me. I am under contract for another 2 years so the company can pay back my student loans will siphoning my pay check but will they break that. I have to provide for this household and I have a needy girlfriend. What shall I do? I should not make fools of my room mates or even my boss even though they have made fools out of me, running out the front door and leaving it wide open as my boss lays on my floor completely immobilized. Hmm, maybe I’ll just go call up my boss’s boss and see if I can talk him into letting me stick with the company and plead my case but everyone down at the offices look down on such representatives because we don’t have to wake up at irritable times of the day and drive our crummy cars to work while sitting at a desk that is comprised of work only materials. They think we are no good hoodlums that just sit around all day and pass any real complaints towards them. If I called, even if I got through to the boss’s boss, the whole company would make my case a laughing stock and pass my name and my condition around all the media outlets until I was a spectacle like the elephant man. I can’t through with this. Sir, wake up so I can plead my case; please get up from your nap and tell me what I should do because I can’t have the world casting judgment on me and I really need this job, wake up!”
But as Sam’s words woke up the boss from his deep sleep, all he could do out of pure embarrassment was back off and crawl away from this robot that was staring at him while he vibrated like his cell phones, probably out of shock. And while Sam was still trying to talk he did not even try to listen attentively but tried to dodge the bulk that was coming for him and slid down the staircase for the front door, without stealing glances at anything but the roundness of Sam’s head, as he hoisted himself down the staircase as if it was a mountain’s cliff. The boss stretched his legs while coming in contact with the carpet on the first floor and just stared inadvertently at Sam until Sam’s presence was to much to bear and he slowly paced his way to the door as if exiting that building would be like waking up from a night terror.
Sam thought that the boss could not leave his neighborhood with his only information on Sam was that he has turned into a robot; endangering his job security and even his vertical occupational movement. His father told him that was the best job that he could get--in a very stern tone--and that he would have to work hard for a pay check but it proved to Sam how easy life actually was when you worked from home. The boss must be kidnapped, tripped, beaten and finally dragged back to the town home; their rent money depended on it! If only Stan didn’t run away! He was the only one of them that was still going through college but he stormed out a long time ago. Sam had to try and come up with a plan all on his own. Without knowing it, instinctively, his legs started to walk towards his front door, where the light was shining so bright unlike everything else in the house; his mind was still coming up with the plan while his body stayed in movement until he needed to make a conscious effort to bend or keep walking--he kept walking--and he teeter tottered on the edge of the first step; completely frozen in time analyzing both options of staying frozen and/or falling down the stairs in a wide array of somersaults and cart wheels. He, not so much Sam but the computer inside of him, decided that the best option would be to prolong his life and grab for the support rails which his wiry hands did without an actual order being given to these appendages. As he kept on walking towards the door so he could look out for his boss he noticed Trevor still in the living room digging through his stuff, frantically, and Sam just watched him with delight. Trevor peaked back because he could feel the air in the room get colder and caught sight of this horrendous, metal object and yelled out “What happened to Sam, Oh Jesus what the fuck am I even looking at,” as he took out something from the bag he was carrying at took a few steps towards this contraption but since he was still absorbed into this robot, Trevor was not paying attention to the surrounding furniture and tripped over a end to their coffee table spilling over their bong which was pooling water on the table and dripping steadily onto the floor.
“Trev, Trevor,” said Sam in a ordinary voice, and viewed her. The boss, suddenly, went on a vacation in his mind because all he could do was make a zapping noise with his moth put from the face that he didn’t want to clean up all that smelly, nasty, raunchy bong water. This made the hurt Trevor, yell at the top of his lungs, and he squirmed away like a worm after a afternoon shower. Trevor was heading for the crawl space and Sam made a slight peripheral glance over their and noticed Daniel waving him on which upon seeing Sam’s face took a deep gulp and shut his eyes with sickness. But Sam left them have their fun as he was the one severely deformed so he tried not to pay attention to this hide and go seek game and continued searching for his boss; walking towards the front door he saw the boss getting into his car but as he unlocked his door the boss looked back up at the house and saw a shaded figure standing--watching--him get into his car which made him yell “Gosh!” as it evaporated eventually through the wind.
The sight of Sam seemed to drive the rest of the room mates furious, who more or less were not scared of this robot because throughout life everyone sees and hears about robots--they were de-sensitized while maturing--but the thought of this robot making a presence over themselves in their household ticked them off. Stan took charge--the college boy--and grabbed whatever he could find in their crawl space which consisted of that broom Trevor was using to hit the ceiling, a carton of cigarettes, a beer bottle, a box for a chi massager to use and drive Sam back into his room. They all got into positions, the box to re-enact a shield which was Daniel’s weaponry who was also leading the pack, with the beer bottle in Trevor’s right hand to Daniel’s right and on his left was Stan with the broom to violently thrust it at Sam so they could get him back into his room and maybe change back into his normal self. The less Sam moved from his lunatic room mates the more they started chanting weird tribal songs, trying to test his patience with each stomp of their heels. But Sam wasn’t used to walking backwards in his new vehicle; it wasn’t fluid like the rest of his movements after a short while. If he only could walk back to his room without such an event happening in his own living room but he feared that if he tried to turn around they might just try and finish him off while Sam’s eyes weren’t witnessing them. In the end, however, since he could hardly walk backwards--it had to be the joint mechanism connecting his aluminum foil legs to his chassis--and he couldn’t even see because his head wouldn’t turn; it stayed motionless on top of his shoulders. But Sam still tried to do it his own way; make sure no one could help him as a precaution--if his condition ever left him--just to have revenge on his room mates. They weren’t having it though, they shot him the look of desperation and started defensively but aggressively pinning him against open space until the only thing he could do was head upstairs, his room mates spread their position and opened up around him; prodding him with inanimate objects even when he was turned around. His room mates didn’t have a set declaration of war so there was no rules to follow during this trapping so they went for his weak spots--right by the pop marks and the deterioration--just to get him going like the testicle gropers on a bull. As Sam was stumbling up the stairs, almost embarrassed to know these gentlemen, who were disregarding every rule for violent actions but indecisively he kept going up the stairs to his bedroom. His room mates let off to see if he would go alone but all they could heard was muzzled snarls and jittery metal so they gestured forward. Sam’s body was in agony, his weakened area was now turning a brownish silver and the pop marks were starting to fall off; leaving holes in his new exterior which actually upset him. “I could never have anything new,” he thought to himself while walking through his door frame just about in his room, bent over holding his ass and if a robot could cry-- that is what he would be doing right about now-- but he just sobbed. But all his room mates could hear was a serene voice and they thought the gentle sobs were horrendous laughs as if this robot was mocking them so out of pure frustration and right from behind while Sam was viewing his wiry hands and the pillow on top of his bed, the room mates kicked him in the back and hit him one time with the broomstick over the head. Sam was oozing out a brownish liquid that soaked into his sheets. The door was quickly pulled into its latch, leaving an echo that seem to linger in the room for the next few days.
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