When Cyborg Corp contacted him on the first day of the new year, Shawn was kind of skeptical.
“Listen,” he said, as a scientist in a white lab coat swabbed the inside of his mouth with an extra long Q-tip. “Do you really need a DNA sample? I mean, can’t you, like, just ask me questions? A personality test or something?”
The scientist was all business and didn’t answer him. When he was finished, he met with Luther Strange, which was strange, not only because his name was Strange, but the man looked like one of those strange mad scientists you’d see on cartoon shows.
“Okay, looks like we’ve got everything we need.” He pushed a paper across the white table in the white room, filled with other white people in white lab coats.
“Sign here, here,” he flipped the page over “here and here.” Shawn tried to glance over the document but he could see the eyes giving him piercing glances. Screw it. He signed in all four of the designated places.
“There ya go!” He pushed the paper right back at Luther and tried to give him the same intimidating look. It didn’t work.
“Thank you Mr. McGovern. We will be in touch.” Everyone walked out of the room and through a door, that wasn’t really a door. It was behind where Mr. Strange was sitting. When they got closer to the wall, it just seemed to open up and everyone exited the room. The woman from the lobby who had led him into the DNA room came in from behind.
“This way please.” She held the door open and, just like that, he was gone.
The package
He woke up at 7:00 to a rather loud obnoxious knock on his front door. The banging continued as he threw off the covers, scrambled around his messy room to find something to put on, and ran to the door. Two men in white suits stood on his doorstep. He’d almost forgotten, hell, it’d been 8 months since he’d been to Cyborg Corp, and not once had they tried to reach out to him.
“Hey, why are you guys always dressed up so nice?” He tried to lighten the mood. Behind the two men stood a crate, 6 or 7 feet tall.
“Sign here,” said the man on the left, who, funnily enough, looked just like the man on the right. He handed him a weird looking tablet which was wafer thin and nearly see-through.
“Ummm,” Shawn fumbled with the strange device, turning it around, “Where?”
“Here Mr. McGovern.” The man on the left took it back, flipped the device over and held it out.
“Ohh, yeah, right here.” He lied. He had no idea where the hell they wanted him to sign but used his finger and made the best signature he could under the circumstances. The two men looked carefully at the screen and whispered to each other. Deciding that all was in order they began the arduous process of bringing the crate into the living room.
First, the crate was a hair too wide to fit through the doorway. No matter what the men tried to do, they failed each time. Neither seemed frustrated though and each short conversation they had was whispered. Shawn offered to help several times, however they ignored him. Finally, the men took off his front door, including the molding, without asking if it was okay. Of course, to him, it was ‘whatever,’ but still. They dropped the crate in the middle of his living room and left, without bothering to put the door back on.
“Really? Ahh, guys?” He yelled to them as they walked to their white van, got inside and leisurely drove off. “Ugh.”
Shawn left the door for now and looked at the crate, trying to figure out just how he was supposed to open it. Eight months of waiting and they left him with a huge box that seemed to be hermetically sealed. There wasn’t so much as an opening or even a small clue that indicated where to begin.
“Looks like I’m getting the saw,” he thought. The whole process took him a little over an hour and a half. Gently sawing along the edges, he was finally able to take his old rusted hammer and pry the top open. The crate was filled with packing peanuts. Oh God, was it filled. He dug through them, throwing them throughout his living room and soon enough he felt something.
At first, he didn’t know what to think. He had reached down about three feet into the packing peanuts and felt something squishy. It freaked him out enough that his hand shot out of the crate bringing with it hundreds of styrofoam nuggets.
“Okay, maybe I should move a little bit slower.” So grabbing one of those lawn and garden trash bags, he went to work. He filled two of them before he actually saw something. It was a foot. The foot, was wearing a size 10 ½ blue converse All Stars sneaker, the same as the ones that were sitting in his bedroom. He brushed aside some more of the foam and saw a leg wearing the same khakis he always wore. He moved up to the body, which was wearing a checkered button down shirt with a white t-shirt underneath. Holy shit, the anticipation was driving him mad.
When he got to the head and the face, he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. He dropped the hammer onto the floor and stood back, looking in the crate.
“What the hell,” he called out. “This is supposed to look like me!” His first thought was that maybe they hadn’t gotten enough of his DNA or something. Should he say something? Maybe he should go back to Cyborg Corp and complain. What if he did that and then had to wait another 8 months before he could get another one.
Deciding he was tired of waiting, he heaved it out of the crate and onto the living room floor. The damn thing was as heavy as an ox, which really didn’t make him feel much better about his life choices. He laid “himself” out onto the floor and still got a bit squeamish anytime he touched the skin.
Shawn noticed something in one of the hand and pried it out of the death grip. It was a small flash drive, with a folded up piece of paper wrapped around it and held with an elastic. Undoing the elastic, he flicked it aside, unfolded the paper, and read the typed out contents.
“IMPORTANT
We did not have time to update the software prior to shipment. Make sure you insert card prior to initial boot sequence.”
There was a hastily drawn tiny picture right next to the last word. It was an ear, with a bunch of arrows pointed to it.
“Didn’t have time? Really? You had eight months.” He kneeled down and looked at the right ear and sure enough, there was a tiny little slot where the card could be inserted. And next to that, was an even smaller button. He wasn’t sure what the button did but he pressed it anyway.
The ‘machine’ turned on, bolted upright and began muttering expletives under its breath.
“Stupid Goddamn son-of-a-bitch. Asshole. Fuck, fucker, fuck.” This went on for a good five minutes before it realized that Shawn was standing beside him, just sort of staring at him with both awe and amusement.
“Did you update me?” it asked almost immediately. Shawn sensed a panic in it’s voice.
“Uhhh… no, not yet.” Before he had time to register what was happening, the thing grabbed the flash drive from his hands and crushed it into a fine powder. “There we go!”
“Whoa, what the hell! Were you supposed to do that?” It seemed like overkill. The thing was, he wasn’t really sure what this thing was supposed to do. All he knew was that he was getting a robot, supposedly, of himself. They told him nothing else.
Things were different now. He’d broken up with his narcissistic evil girlfriend, Cynthia, a few months after going to Cyborg Corp. At the time, he’d hoped that he could just have his robot do the dirty work for him. Eventually, though there was a breaking point and he just couldn’t take it anymore. So Shawn broke up with Cynthia via text message, which oddly did not go over well at all.
Months of scorn-fueled anger and hatred ended a little over a month ago when Cynthia had sent him a text, saying that she was over him and was now dating Andrew. Shawn, Andrew, and Cynthia all worked in the same building.
Andrew Wasserman was an accountant, who Shawn didn’t really know all that well. Other than the few “Hellos” or nods they would give each other in the hallways. In fact, they had never really spoken to one another. There had been several occasions were they would both catch each other in the break room getting coffee but one of them would usually just leave the room quicker than the other in order to avoid any awkwardness.
“I am Evil Robot Cyborg Mechanical Shawn” it said, pushing him gently away as it got to its feet and thereby getting Shawn’s attention again. The robot sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger and not the most recent one. We are talking old school Conan or Mr. Universe Arnold. Seeing as this thing had just told him that he was an evil cyborg, Shawn thought he should be more nervous than he actually was but something about this thing didn’t exactly scream “evil”.
“What’s up with the accent?” he asked.
“What accent?”
“That stupid Arnold accent. I don’t sound like that at all!” He hoped this wasn’t going to be permanent.
“Okay, is this better?” Shawn guessed it was; however, it was just like hearing your own voice, on TV or tape. You never really sound right regardless.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” His other half had taken it upon himself to sit on the couch and turn on the television.
“Welcome to The View,” the TV announced. Then, “Welcome to The Talk,” followed quickly by “The Chew”. Thank God his other self wasn’t into any of those shows. However, what it stopped on was probably worse.
“GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL,” an announcer screamed for what seemed like a good 10 minutes. The soccer fans cheered and so did Cyborg Shawn.
“Aren’t you supposed to be like me?” He was genuinely curious and hoped that it had the answer for him. Cyborg Shawn just leaned forward on the couch and concentrated on the TV before sarcastically saying, “Whelp, I guess you shoulda installed the update, huh?”
Shawn wondered if this thing was more trouble than it was worth. He hated having roommates in general and kind of liked not having anyone around. Cynthia used to stay over on weekends, which was the absolute worst.
Now, would he have to deal with a slightly different version of himself? This was all so goddamn strange.
“So…” he trailed off, not sure if he wanted to even ask the question.
“So, what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“You wanted to ask me something? Go ahead ask me. I can’t lie to you, you know. They didn’t let me. I did try a few moments ago but it didn’t work. Besides, I pretty much am you. If I tried to lie, I think you’d know.”
“Okay, that’s good at least, right? It can’t lie to me.” thought Shawn, “At least not well.”
“Wait a second, you lied to me a minute ago. You said you were some Evil Cyborg or something!”
“And, how exactly did I lie? I just told you what I’m going to call myself, that’s all. And I didn’t say I cannot lie. I said, I cannot lie to you. Other than that, I can lie to whomever I want to. Unfortunately, until I can figure out how, I can’t lie to you. Now go ahead, ask me that question.”
“Fine. They never really gave me any information on what I was supposed to do once you got here. I kind of forgot about the whole thing to be honest with you, so this is a little unexpected.”
“Was there a question?”
Jesus this thing was annoying.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” The Cyborg Mechanical Shawn got up off the couch, came over to him, put an hand on his shoulder and left it there.
“Whatever the hell you want.” The Cyborg stood there, his hand just creepily sitting on Shawn’s shoulder until he shrugged him off. “Ha, I know you hate that,” the robot said. “So do I, actually. Please don’t do that to me.”
“Fine, if I can do whatever the hell I want with you, then I want you to go to work for me today.” It was a shot in the dark but without flinching, the robot agreed.
“What time does Evil Robot Cyborg Mechanical Shawn go in?”
“My shift starts at 9:00am. Wait a second? Do you even know what I do? I really can’t afford to get fired.”
“Hey, you have to trust me. Remember, I am you. Or was it you are me? Or we are us? Either way, me is you.”
On any other day, there was no way he would ever let an Evil Robot Cyborg Mechanical manifestation of himself go in to work for him. However, those extra drinks at the bar last night were telling him that this was actually a great idea. Besides, what good is having a robot of yourself if you weren’t going to use it.
There was a brief conversation from the bedroom where his robot was getting dressed and him in the living room.
“You can’t go around calling yourself that.” Shawn yelled from the living room.
“Calling myself what?”
“I dunno, that Evil Robot thing.”
“What?” the robot seemed miffed. “And, why not?”
“Because it sounds weird. Look, seriously, don’t get me fired. Just be normal. Or, as normal as possible.” The robot came out of the bedroom.
“Whoa, whoa whoa!”
“What, is there a problem?”
“Yes! Jesus! What the hell are you wearing?”
“What? What do you mean exactly? These are clothes I found in your closet!”
Something in this thing’s head was loose. Sure he walked, talked and seemed to act perfectly normal but when you come out of a bedroom wearing red leather pants, a jean jacket with a white tank top underneath… and it’s 2018, you know something is off.
“Ummm… yeah. I wore them to a halloween party like 3 years ago.”
“Really?” it said, surprised. “I kind of dig it.” Shawn just rolled his eyes. After picking a different outfit, which again, was just khakis, shoes, and a button-down top, the robot brushed his hair and appeared to be ready to go.
“So, before you go,” Shawn stopped him. “This is obviously a little weird and, um, I’m not even sure what to call you.”
“Evil, Robo…”
“No. I’m not calling you that. How about something like Phil?”
“Oh no! I knew a Phil once. Very bad guy. Pick something else.” Shawn wasn’t sure how he could’ve known a Phil but okay.
“Well besides Evil Robot, what would you want to be called?”
“Brad” it said proudly.
“Okay, Brad.”
The Office
Brad left the apartment just after 8:30 am.
“You should probably get this door fixed,” he said, walking through the doorway.
He was happy to feel the midday sun upon his face as he walked to the car. Being cooped up in those tiny white rooms at Cyborg Corp drove him mad, especially when they would talk about him behind his back and he couldn’t do anything about it.
Shawn’s Ford Fusion was a little rough around the edges but he managed to get to the office just after 9:00 am. He pulled up in front of the building and noticed three parking spaces with signs in front of them that read Employees of the Month. He parked in the middle space and got out.
“Shawn,” a voice called out behind him. An older man, bald, with a scraggly patchwork of facial hair unrolled the passenger’s side window of his Volvo station wagon. “What the hell man?” Brad was confused. Was this guy talking to him? The man in the car appeared to be waiting for a response.
“Yes?” he said back to him with a slight shout. “What the hell?” Brad could hear a bunch of muttering as the guy sped away. This was great! He was making new friends already.
He walked by a receptionist who waved as she talked on the phone, snapped bubble gum and twirled her hair with her pen. He thought he should call her Betty, but did not know why. His desk was along the far wall, against the window in a sea of cubicles. He sat down in a rather uncomfortable chair, turned on the computer and stared at the screen.
Password. Hmm. If I were Shawn, which technically I am, what password would I pick?
Asshole. Nope, that wasn’t it. His computer brain knew that he only had a few more shots at this, or else he’d be locked out and would have to call the dreaded I.T. department. He tried ‘Shawny’ crap, nothing.
Part of the problem with being a cyborg clone of someone was that, even though you technically had the DNA of said individual, it did not mean that you had all of their memories that came along with it. Sure, there were enough things to get you by, but a lot of this shit he was just winging it through. Like how he’d driven to Valencia instead of downtown because he really thought that’s where the office was. He needed to call Shawn.
411. Did people still use this technology, he wondered. “411, can I help you?”
“Shawn McGovern,” he answered. There was a pause on the other end and he wasn’t sure if the woman on the other end had heard him. “Shawn McGovern,” he said it slower this time, just to make sure.
“Okay…” the woman was hesitant. Maybe she was shy? Perhaps she should get a better job than giving people telephone numbers over the telephone he thought. She spoke again, “Do you have an address?” He searched in a nanosecond through his cyborg mechanical brain and came up with, “223 Franklin St.” Some things were there, thankfully, just not all.
“I don’t have a number for that name at that address, I’m sorry sir.” Brad hung up on the shy telephone operator. During his brief phone call, two well dressed men stood behind his cube talking amongst themselves.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted.
“Oh, hey Shawn, whats up?” Both stood facing him now, it was the man on the left that spoke to him, he was taller than the other and had long wavy red hair. Brad thought it was funny that the man’s eyebrows were big, bushy, and fiery red and connected to one another across his brow.
“I’m Evil Robot Cyborg Mechanical Shawn,” he said to them. The redhead gave him a strange look and cocked his eyebrows. The other man looked like some guy you’d see in a Guess advertisement: brown hair feathered back, cufflinks, chiseled face and body; just generally cocky looking, put a hand on his chin and did one of those rubbing motions.
“Ahem, I meant, I need Shawn’s number. Do either of you happen to have it?”
“Shawn who?” GQ asked.
“Me!” He said frustrated. “Jeesh! It’s me! Shawn!” Brad laughed nervously. This wasn’t going well. “That’s what I meant! Yes! I am him alright. Yup. Shawn McGovern.” The two men’s mouths had dropped a bit. Not full aghast, but getting there. “Can I have his, I mean my number please and thank you.” The red headed Viking took his phone out grabbed a sticky note and wrote the number on it.
He didn’t bother thanking either of them but immediately picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
Brad covered his mouth with his hand over the receiver. “We have a problem.”
“What? Who is this? Brad?”
“I don’t know your password. I can’t get into your computer. You don’t understand, I can’t get locked out. I can’t call I.T.” he looked around him to make sure no one was hovering around the desk. “If I call I.T. it’s over for me, don’t you understand that? Do you get it, Shawn?”
“My God, calm down. My password is Banana007.”
“Ok.” he hung the phone up and typed “Bannana007” into the computer. A message popped up telling him that he was locked out and to contact an admin.
He called himself back. “I’m locked out. This is the worst. You’re the worst.”
“Why can’t you call I.T. to get them to just reset the password? What’s the problem? I should never have agreed to let you work for me.”
“I’m a cyborg, Shawn. Did you forget that? This would be like me telling you to go back to your mommy to get lunch money for snacks before recess. You wouldn’t do it and I’m not going to do it either.” He then thought of something. “Never mind. I’ll figure this out.” he hung up. The phone rang back right away but he didn’t answer it.
He walked down the hall, listening to his phone ringing back at his desk. He walked into the computer server room. He pulled out a computer tray with a laptop on it and began typing. Once he gained access to the admin setup, he quickly changed the password on his own to something more simple. He chose ThisIsTheBestPasswordEver. “There we go.”
The bits and bytes flickered in his mechanical brain and, though it told him to close the laptop and go back to his desk and work on whatever needed to be worked on, another part of that brain told him that looking at things he really shouldn’t look at would also be a good idea. He scanned through various files, the employee handbook and other personnel files, but nothing of much importance. Nothing all that exciting. He searched for emails pertaining to his other self, who was probably by this point knee deep in his video games and sitting comfortably on the couch. One email caught his attention. It was from a lady named Cynthia Gordon written to an Andrew Wasserman.
Andrew,
Shawn has no idea what’s coming, so don’t worry so much. Just ask him out to lunch. Tell him it’s on you. If you tell him you’re buying, he won’t say no. Trust me.
I have some concerns though about his eligibility for any benefits or even him getting unemployment. Obviously I don’t want him getting jack shit but just make sure that you do everything we talked about, and we should be good.
Can’t wait until Monday to see that little shit get what he deserves. See you tonight.
Cynthia.
Hmm, well, that was interesting. He searched the servers and email databases for any other information about this but found nothing. He closed the laptop and went back to his desk.
The phone was still ringing. He answered.
“Did you get in?” Shawn asked.
“Get in where?”
“My computer! Why’d you hang up on me before?”
“Oh yeah you’re fine, don’t even worry about it. I went ahead and changed your password. Hey, who’s Cynthia?”
He sensed dread and panic in Shawn’s voice. “Why? Don’t talk to her. Seriously! Why are you asking me though? Did she say something to you?”
“The only people I have talked to today was the guy who drives a shitty Volvo station wagon, a guy who looks like a Viking, and another one who looks like he does modeling work on the side. I have no idea who Cynthia is.” The fear drained from Shawn’s voice.
“She’s my ex-girlfriend. We broke up like six months ago. She’s crazy though, so don’t go near her if you see her. She’s tall with really long blonde hair. I’m talking like down to her knees almost. You won’t miss her. She’s loud and obnoxious too. Just listen to me! Avoid her. Don’t talk to her, don’t make eye contact with her, don’t even acknowledge that she exists.”
“Bye!” he hung up, and the phone again rang right away.
“Yeah?”
“Stop hanging up on me. Did you understand anything I just said to you?”
“Ex-girlfriend, crazy. Got it.” He hung up.
Now that he was able to get into his computer, he logged on and just sort of sat there, wondering what Shawn did all day.
“I’d better look busy,” he thought. He wondered how normal people looked busy. He typed away on the keys without anything actually being open on his computer. It didn’t seem right though. Maybe if he walked around and saw what other people were doing that would help. One thing that he knew for sure was that humans loved coffee, so he started there.
The break room was on the second floor and was pretty much just a large room, with a fridge, microwave, sink, and a bunch of round tables scattered about. On the counter there were 2 separate Keurig machines. A black man was standing over one of them.
“Hey,” Brad said standing beside him, sort of just staring at the mans coffee dripping into his mug. The man looked over but didn’t seem to recognize him. Politely, he responded with a nod and returned to watching his coffee being made for him.
“Pretty.” Brad said.
“Excuse me?”
“Pretty day, huh?” The wording didn’t sound right. He’d need to work on that.
“Yeah, I guess. Can I help you with something?” The man stepped back, clearly Brad had made things awkward.
“No, no. Just observing. Continue.” The man grabbed his coffee mug, while coffee was still coming from the machine and quickly left the room.
He wondered what coffee tasted like. Brad knew that he was able to eat and drink pretty much anything. They’d installed a stomach about three months ago, with a removal tray you could take to a garbage can. Very convenient. However, he’d yet to actually eat or drink anything.
The number of coffee options available to him was astounding. There was Sumatra Dark, Columbian Light, Decaf, French Vanilla, Hazelnut, Bold, Extreme. It went on and on. He decided on the Extreme and put the little cup in the bin and pressed the brew button. Liquid gold, or so his robot brain told him. It poured into the styrofoam cup slowly, which was rather annoying to him. If the point of drinking the coffee was to become awake and more alert, why did it take such a long time to actually get to the point of drinking it? Someone else had entered the room but he was too fascinated with the coffee to even notice.
“Shawn, buddy! What’s up brother?” A man, probably in his early 30’s, with a stocky build and hair so short that it looked like it was cut with a knife. Brad couldn’t tell what color the hair even was, it was so short. The man had a chin the size of Texas, with an equally big divot in the center of it. His brown eyes were slits, as if he truthfully didn’t like Shawn all that much, even though he was calling him brother.
“My guy! My main man,” he said back. These awkward human moments. Those times where the right words won’t come out and you sound like an idiot. This was still something he would need to work on.
The man seemed a little surprised by the reaction he was getting, but went with it. “Yeah man, yeah. So umm, listen, I’m gonna be heading to an early lunch around 11, you game?” The man waited for a moment before saying, “My treat.”
“Hells to the yeah, I am the game!” Brad held up a hand for a high five which was returned in kind but followed by an odd uneasiness between the two of them with an even longer awkward silence.
His coffee had since finished pouring. He had no idea who this man was, or where to find him for their early lunch. Unfortunately, the man left the room so he couldn’t ask him. He sat down at one of the round tables for a while and let the coffee cool down because that’s what you were supposed to do.
Wave after wave of humans came into the room. For ninety-seven percent of them the reason they entered was to get coffee and leave. A few people mentioned his name or gave him a friendly hello but for the vast majority their only mission was to get to that coffee.
After about 30 minutes or so, his computer processing brain told him that he had better go ahead and take a sip of that coffee. This was in fact, the first thing he had drunk since being built. He felt the now warmish liquid sliding down his throat and his fake brain pinged and popped. He quickly decided he needed another, and then another. He had now been in the break room for over an hour and had done a total of zero minutes of work.
As he waited for the machine to fill his eighth cup of coffee, a man walked up to the other machine.
“I hear you’re going out with Andrew for lunch.” the man said.
“Huh?”
“You’re brave, Shawn,” the man chuckled. “I would never go anywhere with my ex’s new boyfriend.”
Then it hit him. Both the coffee, and the realization of the grave mistake he’d made. In his quest to be nice to everyone, he’d inadvertently agreed to go out with Cynthia’s boyfriend. He searched his memory for the date of the email he’d read from Cynthia to Andrew and saw that it was dated last Friday and that the Monday she was talking about had to be today. Oh no! This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
Brad decided not to tell Shawn about any of this. Shawn had told him no less than ten times not to get him fired. So worrying him wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, he was an advanced being with superhuman intelligence and was built to handle these things. He went back to his desk and typed on the keyboard, still without having anything open. After a while, Andrew came by his desk.
“Ready to go?”
“You bet your ass I am.”
Lunch
They left in Andrew’s Lincoln Navigator. The man seemed uncomfortable and shifty. Brad wasn’t sure what to say, so he decided to make small talk. It was his first time doing so.
“How about that weather, which is outside?”
“Uhh… yeah. Looking good”
“What is the lunch that you like the most?”
“What?”
“The lunch. Which is the most favorite?”
“Why are you acting like that?” Suddenly Andrew was getting defensive. “I just wanted to bury the hatchet. We work in the same building every day, I just don’t want it to be weird.”
He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for but he apologized anyways. Things didn’t get any less tense though. Andrew turned the radio on, but Brad didn’t like country music so he changed the channel. Andrew in turn didn’t like the fact that, Brad, who he thought was Shawn, was touching his stuff, so he changed it back to country music. The entire rest of the ride to the restaurant turned into the two of them trying to change the radio station faster than the other.
Andrew pulled into Chuck Jack Wagon’s, a Barbeque place that specializes in ribs and, not so surprisingly, beer. Andrew got out first and walked ahead without saying anything and went inside. Brad found him sitting at the bar and pulled up a stool to sit next to him.
“Two Seventeen solids,” Andrew told the bartender. Brad had no idea what that was but assumed it was some kind of drink.
There was a reason that Shawn’s ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend had asked him out to lunch and he was going to figure it out. The bartender soon came back with two glasses shaped like cowboy boots, filled with dark brown colored liquid. Andrew held up his boot.
“Cheers! To new beginnings.” They clinked their glasses and Brad took the smallest sip one could possibly take. His face squinted. Brad then took a long gulp and felt the burn, though not much else in the taste department. He didn’t particularly enjoy the hot sensation but figured it was part of the experience of drinking alcohol.
He was finished rather quickly, which did not seem to be a problem for Andrew because he immediately ordered him another one.
“So listen, Shawn.”
“You can call me Brad.”
“Huh, what?” Andrew sipped his drink carefully and hadn’t even managed to make a small dent in it.
“I just like Brad. You could also call me something else but I was told that I can’t say that to anyone in public, so I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
“What? Did you change your name or something? I’m so confused. Who is Brad?”
“Well, I sort of thought it sounded better before I left the house this morning.” Andrew just shook his head.
“Anyway, what I wanted to say was, we don’t have to be friends but we also don’t have to be enemies either. Ya know what I mean?” Brad didn’t know what he meant.
“No.”
“We have to work together. Just because I’m dating Cynthia doesn’t mean it needs to affect our work. This whole thing, going around the halls at work, avoiding each other. It doesn’t need to be that way man.
“Okay,” Brad said, not really agreeing or disagreeing. It was more of a general acknowledgment.
He finished the rest of his drink and wasn’t really sure he was doing this right. He thought back to the cafeteria and the coffee. How everyone was so eager to drink it and come back for more and more of it. These Seventeen Solids, in boot glasses had to be the same type of thing, right? Andrew’s eyes just about came out of his head as the boot hit the bar and another drink was ordered.
Brad looked around. He liked the place. It had a honky tonk feel to it. There were several people huddled around a barrel, eating peanuts and drinking beer. He decided to go and join them, bringing the boot with him. “Be right back.”
“Hey ya’ll,” he grabbed a handful of peanuts and put them into his mouth. The three men around him instantly stepped back. The peanuts were salty, this he knew, but they were also incredibly hard to eat, which he hadn’t expected. He ground the peanuts with his fake teeth and soon it was like a paste in his mouth. He took a sip of his drink and swallowed. Not a fan he decided.
“Yer supposed to take the shell off, ya dummy,” a helpful portly man in a cowboy hat said. “You stupid or somethin’?”
“As stupid as you and your friends, you mean?” His database had a large list of witty comebacks but for some reason didn’t go into specifics on when was the best time to use them.
“Excuse me,” a tall cowboy who looked like the early 80’s version of Burt Reynolds said standing an inch away from him.
“I said your mother.” It was an automatic response.
Oh boy, maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say. The new cowboy tapped his other cowboy friend on the shoulder and the two of them came at him with fists raised. Brad grabbed the Burt Reynolds fist and held it as the man continued to try and land the punch. The portly man had taken a step back, maybe realizing he didn’t want any part of this fight. The other friend came from behind and put an arm around his neck. This clearly did nothing. Brad’s neck muscles were made from materials that he wouldn’t ever be able to explain to people.
Either way, it was tough and so was he. The two men continued to struggle, punching him, hitting him and strangling him. It occurred to him that this wasn’t accomplishing much and now a lot of people in the restaurant were looking at them.
“Listen guys. Let me buy you drinks for the rest of the day.” The men stopped, not sure what to think but when he yelled to the bartender, calling him ‘Eddie the drink slinger’ and told him to give the two gentleman drinks. The two thanked him and apologized.
“You’re a good person,” the Burt Reynolds man said. His actual name was Dennis and he had just lost his dog Max.
“I am more of a cat person,” Brad said.
His friend Jimmy, was recently laid off from a silk factory.
“Silk factory? Really?” Brad asked. Apparently it was a thing. Who knew.
When he got back to the bar, Andrew had already gotten him another drink.
“What was that all about?”
“Just making friends.”
They ordered food. Brad chose hot buffalo wings with steak fries. They were delicious, so he ordered another set of them. As he waited, he asked the bartender, who’s name was not actually Eddie, to send drinks to everyone in the bar.
“Are you serious?” Eddie asked.
“Why would I not be serious?”
“Okay buddy. It’s your tab.” This pleased the bar and restaurant patrons, which in turn made his electronic components beep and bop with glee. Andrew had finished his lunch and was working on his third boot. Brad was on his ninth.
“Man! You can drink huh?” Andrew remarked.
“It tastes good. Thank you for choosing this!” He couldn’t tell if Andrew was upset about something or just surprised that he was drinking so much or maybe it was something else.
His second order of wings came and he began digging in. As he ate, he looked around the bar and noticed some people had finished their drinks.
“Eddie, my boy. Another two rounds for everyone!” The bar and restaurant patrons cheered in unison. The door opened behind him and two police officers came inside and stood at the waitress station.
“Hey guys. Pickin’ up?” asked Jane the hostess.
“Yes ma’am.” She left to go get the food and the two of them milled about. Brad thought he should go talk with them.
“Hey!”
“How’s it going?” Both cops looked the same, the only real difference was their hair color, the one that spoke had black hair.
“Good, good. Just drinking the alcohol.”
“Okay. Can I help you with something?” Why was it that everyone kept asking if they could help him with something?
“You can’t help me. I will buy your lunch though. I’m buying everyone’s drinks. They are happy about it.”
“No thank you, sir.” the blonde haired cop said, “We can’t accept anything while we are on duty.”
“It’s fine, I won’t say anything. Besides, my friend over there is paying for it. He took me out to lunch.” Brad turned around and waved to Andrew who waved back at the three of them confused.
“Ya know what? Fine. Why not?” The black haired cop said, tapping his partner on the shoulder. It seemed like some sort of code or a tell, like when you played cards. The two of them left with their food.
Andrew and Brad sat at the bar for another 45 minutes. During this time, Brad had ordered at least another six rounds for the 18 people in the bar and restaurant, had given another two free meals to people getting take out, and had drank another six Seventeen Solids. Andrew had just finished his seventh.
“Yeah, know what I…” Andrew hiccuped, “Like about…” hiccup “Cynthia…” Brad was rather curious actually. “Sheesh, so purdy.” Hiccup. Brad computed that Andrew was intoxicated. He wasn’t sure exactly what this meant, only that it was the reason for the hiccups and slurred speech. Andrew went on and on about random things, his life at home, his cat Mipsy and about how his mortgage was just a little too expensive and that he was looking for a better rate.
“I have to go tinkle,” he interrupted. The truth was, Andrew’s blabbing was hurting his head. The real truth was, his head really couldn’t hurt and he felt no pain. This was emotional pain and he wanted out. At the other end of the bar, he motioned to his new friend Eddie.
“Hey, what can I get for ya?” Eddie smiled.
“Another round for the bar and for my coworker. When he’s done with his drink, he will be paying the bill.” Eddie seemed skeptical.
“Hey!” Eddie yelled over to Andrew who was slouched over the bar. “You got this?” Andrew clearly had no idea what the man was talking about and just raised his boot into the air and yelled, “Ayyyyy mate!”
Brad left through the back door. He waved to the two officers who had parked beside a tree at the entrance to the restaurant. Neither waved back.
It took him a good half hour to get back to the office. At first he walked but realized he wasn’t really getting anywhere so he decided to run. This was a problem though because he ran a bit too fast. No human ran a mile in under a minute, he thought it might look a little strange to anyone he was passing, so he slowed down a bit.
The office
When he got back to the office it was just after 3:00 pm. He sat down at Shawn’s computer and did exactly what he had done before he left; stared at it.
“What the hell?” A nasally voice yelled behind him, “Are you serious right now? Like, really? Are you fucking joking me?” He turned around out of curiosity more than anything.
It was Cynthia. He knew it right away. She was exactly as Shawn had described her to be.
“Hey.”
“NO!, No, no, no. Don’t you even “hey” me right now.” He didn’t understand what the woman was so mad about, “Where the hell is my boyfriend?”
“I think he’s still at the bar.”
“What? What do you mean he’s at the bar? How the hell did you get back here? He drove you.”
“I ran. I ran too fast though, so I had to jog a lot. I could have arrived here sooner if I ran though.” Cynthia’s jaw was just about at the floor now. Her face was cherry red and her eyes were little slits of pure anger and rage.
“He told me that you were getting drunk.”
“Nope, not drunk. They were good drinks though. They were called Seventeen Solids. He liked them too.”
“Idiot! Idiot!” Cynthia seethed under her breath, or at least tried to.
“How the hell can you not be drunk?” She insisted, “He texted me. He said you had at least 12 of them.”
A short, older lady in a business suit with red, curly hair, and a stocky man about 40 years old with only bits of his hair left on either side of his head had come over to Brad’s cube.
“Cynthia,” The lady said. “There was something that you wanted to see us about?”
“Yes!” she said panicked. “Him!” she pointed to Brad who she thought was Shawn. “He is drunk!” The two people looked at Brad, but were clearly not convinced.
“Shawn, is this true?” the man asked.
“I have never been drunk so I would not know what that is. If you want to know what it looks like, I think that Andrew is drunk.”
“You goddamn son of a bitch!” Cynthia yelled.
“Cynthia” the woman snapped back. “What is this all about?”
“Him. Uggghh!” she screeched and stormed off.
“Sorry, Shawn. We will look into what’s going on. You can get back to work.”
He typed on his keyboard more and zoned out for a while.
At the bar
“Oooh you’re in trouble”
The bartender came over to him just as he was finishing his last boot. He hadn’t seen Shawn lately but figured that he had drunk enough of the boots that he would be in the bathroom for a while. Hopefully the alcohol had caught up with him and he was in there getting sick. That was the whole goal of this thing wasn’t it? To bring him back to the office completely shit-faced?
“Here ya go!” The bill just seemed to go on and on and on. It reminded him of some of the receipts he would get from CVS.
“$873! Are you serious? I’m not paying this! When the hell did I order seven Pinot Grigio?” The bartender didn’t flinch.
“You told me, not 20 minutes ago that you got this. Now, I got you on tape. Pay the bill or I’m calling the cops.”
“What? I never said that! I thought you were talking about me drinking. I got that!” Where the hell was Shawn? He was the one that was buying everyone drinks. He should be paying for this shit, not him.
“Where is the guy that I was with?”
“He left.”
“What?!?”
“Listen guy, just pay the bill and get outta here, alright? I don’t want no trouble.” The only logical thing to do was to pay the damn bill with his credit card. He would have to call his credit card company later though to dispute the charges.
The bartender came back with the slip, for which Andrew made a little dash on the signature line without leaving any sort of a tip. He stumbled out of the bar and got into his car. Before he turned on the ignition, he gave himself a little pep talk.
“You drive better when your drunk,” he slurred to himself. “You remember that big guy.” He turned the key, backed up ever so slowly, put the car into drive and proceeded to crash into a police car that was hidden by some bushes at the entrance.
The office
Cynthia sat at her desk and texted Andrew again.
“WTF, where are you, hellllloooooooooooo? Where the hell are you, answer me!!!!!!” This went on for almost 2 hours without any response. She was beyond livid. Suddenly, just before 5:00 pm, as she was getting ready to leave for the day, her phone rang. It was from a number she didn’t recognize but she answered it.
“Hello.” she said exasperated.
“Hey, it’s Andrew.”
“Where the fuck are you?” she screamed. “I’ve been texting you for two hours. What the hell happened? You had one job, Andrew! One JOB! Shawn is sitting at his fucking desk and guess what!? NOT DRUNK! He’s more sober than I’ve ever seen him Andrew.”
“Calm down. I’m at the Griswold police station. I hit a cop car.”
“You what!?!”
“Shawn left the bar and stuck me with the tab. He bought drinks for everyone like three times over and left.”
“I know he left, asshole! He’s sitting at his desk right now. I even called over Rachel and Patrick to show them that he was at work drunk. Only guess what Andrew? HE WASN’T!”
“I don’t know what happened. I told you. He had like 20 of those boot things. He shouldn’t even be able to stand right now. Look I need you to come pick me up here.”
“Like hell I’m picking you up.”
“Come on, Cynthia. If you don’t get me, I’m going to be stuck here until my court appearance tomorrow.” Cynthia suddenly realized something. Andrew had taken the company car to the bar. He then crashed that car, while drunk, into a police car.
“I want no part of this. We’re done. Find your own way out of this mess.” She hung up the phone. Jesus! This was the worst day ever. She sat at her desk a moment, her coat draped over her arm. Her mind screaming. All she wanted was revenge for Shawn breaking up with her, for calling her a lunatic. Nothing else mattered and now it was ruined.
“You fucking asshole,” she said, charging into Shawn’s cube, slapping him and punching him. Shawn just sat there, not really reacting which made her even more mad.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” she screamed and hissed at him over and over. Meanwhile, everyone in their little cube farms had popped their heads up to see what the hell was going on.
“You suck!” she said still punching him. “You ruined my life! You suck.” Rachel and Patrick, the pair from HR could be seen briskly walking towards the commotion.
“Cynthia,” Patrick shouted grabbing her hand in an attempt to thwart another strike. This only caused him to get hit and he went down hard. Others were watching and came to his aid. Realizing things were really getting out of hand, two men held Cynthia back as she kicked and screamed and cursed Shawn’s very existence.
“Get her the hell out of here. Cynthia, you’re fired. You can tell the same thing to your boyfriend too when you see him. We just got a call from the Griswold police.”
Eventually things died down. People asked Brad if he was okay and he said that he was. Rachel apologized for some reason and said to him, “I’m sorry about all of that Shawn. We have it taken care of and it will not happen again.”
“You can call me Brad.”
Home
Shawn had called into his desk all afternoon but was not getting an answer, which worried him. Around 6:30, which was way later than he normally arrived home, Brad came walking through the door, literally because Shawn hadn’t bothered putting it back on.
“You didn’t fix the door. There are robberies because people do not have doors,” Brad said.
“What the hell happened?” Shawn had been getting text messages since 5:30 pm about Cynthia and Andrew being fired and about all the drama. He didn’t know any of the details so he didn’t respond to any of them.
Brad told him what had happened. He conveniently left out some of the details, like the fact that he’d drank over 15 of those Seventeen Solid drinks.
“Well,” Shawn said after he’d calmed down some, “I thought today was going to end up a lot different than it did. I guess having a cyborg replica of yourself can come in handy.”