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And the same software doubles as Birthday Loyalty.
It counts the minutes I spend on the phone to each friend and, just like smart cards, translates this into a cash value which is spent annually on the friend's birthday present. All fully automated using my electronic calendar and an online ordering and distribution service, of course. It makes me gleeful every time I think about it. More time to myself. More privacy.
Friends I do want to see are happy to see me - and the rest of them can't be slagging me off because I've obeyed the rules and kept in touch!
What more could a girl in London want?
I did not know the answer to that, but I knew a man who might. I had no need for him during those first, glorious months. Christmas came and I exchanged cards with my friends. On my birthday, I got lots of presents and someone suggested a party.
It wasn't my friends' fault they were not in. It was that software.
It should be flexible enough to cope with changing demand. I deserved compensation.
During the year I had not seen Angel Face, he had turned his business model around. As one of his last legacy customers, I knew I was a burden to him with my demands for support. But he forced a smile as I came in. "Sure I can't tempt you with the latest?" he said. The studio was plastered with adverts for his new scheme, which did not reward friends for contacting you, but instead got card-holders to contact other people.
But this July, I lost my job and couldn't get hold of anyone to talk me through the shock. So I got pissed and drank alone until I had worked the whole thing into some sort of befuddled perspective.
"Get Out More and Feel the Value!"
said the writing on the wall. It tied into digital clocks and physical sensors around town, so mothers could track their daughters and transfer money into their bank accounts automatically, if they were good.Angel was particularly proud of a voice recognition feature that dispensed condoms if the girl came home with a man after a certain time - "it can also set off a fire alarm," he said, laughing in delight. "Or a cold shower!"
"Next stop, state control," I muttered, annoyed that I had allowed his exposition, yet awed by the clarity of his invention.
"But people love these things! Check out my new security service, which checks that your profile hasn't been confused with anyone else's"
"Enough, Angel. Stop. Please. Or else get me a stiff gin. I'm not here to learn about your dodgy add-ons. I'm unemployed, I'm nearly broke and I want you to tell me how to reach my friends when they won't answer the bloody telephone!"
I expected him to play the innocent. But he smiled as though we had reached a greater intimacy, and scrolled down an endless computer spreadsheet of names and codes. "Looks like you're ready for the New Acquaintance Offer," he said. "For the friends you have not yet met."
"No, Angel. I want my old friends back. Your software is very good at postponing social engagements, but I've hit crunch time and I need company."
He ignored me. "You know those cute little online video stores, which select videos you may like, based on your purchases so far? Well, this software compares your habits - where you go and what you do - to other people in the database, and puts you in touch with someone you may like. You should try it - maybe you need to get out more."
"For fuck's sake, Angel," I said, leaning back against the wall and rubbing my sore eyes."Cut the crap and tell me why no-one is bothering to answer their phones anymore."
I had thrown the philosophical gauntlet before him, and he sat back in his chair. "Talking to an answer phone is no fun now that it has a purely administrative function, you know. So some people choose to automate it. People like yourself, in fact. And the more people who automate it, the more other people have to automate it, because there's no point talking when there's nobody listening, as Rod Stewart said so wisely. The answer phone has served its purpose. Gone."
"So what the hell are we supposed to do? I take it my friends are part of this scam too?"
He nodded.
"You do realise you've disabled us? No-one trusts their phones any more. I've been trying for weeks to get hold of someone. "
The bastard smiled. "That is where this new feature comes in handy. It gets people out socialising - meeting in public places. No-one will vanish altogether - don't you worry."
"Give me one good reason why should we rely on your lonely hearts scam?"
"Possibly because you have no choice. It's not just for romantic encounters, you know. If the software spots from your diary that you and a Potential Friend - or Potential Other Half - have been to the same place at the same time, it sends you a New Acquaintance Offer - something along these lines:
`They say love is blind - and you probably didn't see me at the Odeon Cinema on Parkway last night at 8pm. But our virtual selves can see beyond appearances. We have the same tastes, the same habits. Mail me back if you want to fall in love.'You get to choose your own wording," he added, opening his eyes again.
"That was Corny, but it does Practical or Spiritual too. If you choose to accept the NAO, it goes out to your PF or POH by email, and if they send back a fully encrypted authorisation, plus digital receipt, you get to know their email address for futher usage. Simple."
He made this database baloney sound so irrevocable that I erupted. "You want people to rely on your special offers to organise their social life? Are you mad?
"You'll be forcing some poor sods to go out to places they can't afford, bored and unhappy, just so that their visit is date-stamped on their loyalty card! They'll be pinning their hopes on some pathetic email offering the details of some sexy chick who was a regular there - it's tragic! "
"It's a free market. They can always go round to their friends' houses to pay a social call."
"But they won't know if anyone will be home or not! And they won't phone first because they know their messages will never be heard by a human ear. You know London is too big for popping round to see anybody."
"Yes, the system does do well in the city." God his objectivity annoyed me. "We did a lot of research, and I now have partnerships springing up with a number of illustrious restaurants and bars. What's more, my 100 percent verifiable list is growing. Anyone who hasn't paid the £65 extra each year risks having their profiles distorted - accidentally, of course - or even confused with someone who only likes violent video and McDonalds."
The inward spiralling of his plan was affecting my head. People were ensnared by an initial convenience that made them feel a part of progress. And now that the service had become a replacement for the old ways, they could not go back.Spiralling down.
Maybe that was the only way for London to go. I remembered a thunderstorm where, for once, I had felt at one with nature despite being in the city. But on the tube home, I found that Vaseline had sponsored the hand-holds of an entire carriage by turning them into deodorant bulbs. Sweaty commuters were forced to enact their need for the product by reaching up to hold them - baring their stinky pits.
Surreal, inward spirals. What a crazy city.
Any politician who thought up Angel's monitoring system would be laughed out of the lobby - mainly because the political system is not strong enough to create such a monster. A software system, on the other hand, is justified - because it responds to market demand. Angel planned to make people traipse the streets for social intercourse. You can monitor actions to gauge someone's consumer habits, but only a sick mind would force people to express themselves that way. What about the good old days when people spoke to one another to retain their sanity? You shouldn't have to walk the streets for people to know you were a nice girl - or resort to bribing a database.
"Count me out of your mass control, Angelino," I said, ripping off my clothes and tearing them to shreds. "I'm a mad woman. No over-simplified incentive scheme wants me in it."
I ran out of the studio and threw myself into the puddle that had started all this so many months ago, giggling with the same sense of freedom I had felt then, on losing my address book.
I did not hear his voice behind me saying, "That's fine, my dear. I will amend your preferences accordingly."
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