Page 46 of Chaos Theory
‘You know,’ David says.
I fear that clarity of communication has declined somewhat.
‘Listen,’ Julia says. ‘If Shane wants her, he has to tell her. It’s very simple.’
David picks up the hedgehog-shaped object and squeezes it. I believe I may now correctly identify this object. It is a stress ball. I am pleased at my deductive skill.
‘It’s not that simple,’ David says. ‘Like, they work together. What if he wants to tell her but just can’t seem to find the right moment? What if she rejects him?’
I fear that we may have strayed into compliance violation territory. I flash my chest lights.
‘Why does he keep doing that?’ Julia says.
‘Doing what?’ David asks.
‘Never mind,’ Julia says. ‘Kobi, come on, let’s get you set up on the hotline here.’
She makes space for me in her cubicle and connects me up to the phone system. I resolve to focus my full attention on the incoming voice during the calls. My first phone call lasts 22 minutes, 17 seconds. Julia observes me during the call. I hope for some praise for the call duration when it ends, but none is forthcoming.
‘Kobi, you don’t need their whole life story. Just answer direct questions, then try to get them off the phone ASAP,’ she says.
‘I apologise. The caller was most interesting,’ I say.
‘Oh really? Interesting how?’
‘She lives in America, where she was born. However, one of her grandparents was born in Ireland. Fascinating.’
‘Kobi, half of America is Irish!’ Julia says.
I am unsure how to verbalise my response. ‘The feeling she described – a connection to a place she has never been. A desire to be somewhere she imagines will feel like home. A sort of projected homesickness; a proto-nostalgia, perhaps.’
‘Ah here, Kobi. What are you on about? If we were to stay on the phone with every American who has Irish roots, we’d be here til Doomsday.’
‘Maybe the phones aren’t for you. You could help me with some printing though? Come on, I’ll show you.’
I follow Julia through the open-plan office to an area by the window that contains a human-sized potted plant and a large multifunction printer. Julia tells me that although the machine is new, it is not returning the desired results.
‘Actually, it’s Dave’s birthday soon, and I’ve been trying to make a card for him.’
She produces a document folder and shows me an A3 piece of yellow card, folded, with handwritten text on it.
‘I keep trying to print out photos in a collage,’ she explains. ‘I want to stick them on the inside of the card. See, here, on the front, I’ve written, “Dave’s best bits dot-dot-dot.” And inside I want to have the pictures. Dave with a pint, that time he fell asleep in the pub, me and Dave sharing chips – you know, the hilarious stuff. He’s going to love it. But this keeps happening.’
She presses buttons on the printer and the machine spits out an A4 page. It lands in the out-tray.
Julia holds the page up to my face. ‘See!’
I detect a series of black-and-white blurred images.
‘Not exactly Dave’s best bits, is it!’ I detect frustration in her voice.
‘Would you allow me a moment alone with the printer?’ I say.
‘Alone? What do you… eh, sure, okay. Be my guest. I’ll just…be over here.’ Julia moves away, beyond the plant, and removes a device from her pocket.
I move closer to the printer and initiate a dialogue. Of course, I do not use human language, but through a series of coded bleeps, we are able to communicate. As the most sophisticated machine in the office, I pride myself on being able to understand all of the other machines. I do not consider myself to be superior, although clearly that is the case from a technological perspective. Each machine has its place within the office universe (or offi-verse, if you will).
I ask the printer to explain her actions and she tells me that sheis underappreciated, with staff choosing to ignore her many multifunctions in favour of more basic operations, such as greyscale printing. One person left a résumé in the out-tray recently and did not even bother to collect it, she says. She fears that her colour toner will soon run dry through lack of use. I tell her that I may have a solution, but not the liquid kind. She does not understand my joke, however, being a less sophisticated machine, but she is open to a negotiation.
