My Life as a Machine: Ugly People

“Bland people are forced, by the nature of circumstance, to supplement.” (AdBusters, July/August 2009)

It was never a factor of whether physically ugly people were interesting for me. As a machine, caring about someone’s physical features–whether they’re ugly or beautiful–is simply fleeting. There’s only this superficial attention to it because machines are labeled machines by physical looks. For me, ugliness normally emanates from within the person, and it decays any beauty on the surface. For some reason, I was sensitive to such ugliness. I felt more ugly faces before me than pretty ones, though they could easily acquire a contract with Wilhemina.

I think the interesting type of people are those with model-perfect looks and treat themselves almost as lowly as an untouchable. They are the people that I feel the most nervous around some days; they make me uncomfortable because they remind me of my former self. Have you ever felt ugly even though you were aware you weren’t? I did, and as a machine, it’s pretty frequent to endure such  a feeling.  After all, machines don’t fit in this world–so says the people’s society–and therefore, machines cannot be beautiful, inside nor out.

I wish I could shake these people with plastic Barbie and Ken faces, peel off the layer of barbed wire, and tell them that they are beautiful for as long as they believed in themselves. It’s normally the low self esteem that ails such beautiful people, sometimes turning them into Ugly or into monsters or into wallflowers.

But what of the physically unattractive people? What do they feel? (Do they feel? is what people would say.) I am interested in ugly people because they rise above what wasn’t given to them (good physical looks) and move people with what’s inside of them. Besides, with money and cosmetics, being ugly physically is becoming obsolete. Having a great personality is becoming more and more rare, like a 1960’s CPU. Let’s face it; being ugly on the outside isn’t easy, but being ugly on the inside is unbearable. Change from within is harder to do than change on the outside.

My Life as a Machine: Blood-Suckers

I thought that people were just these beings on earth who weaseled their way into playing the superiority card. In reality, people are blood-suckers. Like vampires, they swoop down on the horde of others and feed off of each other. They make the world go round, and at the same time, kill the earth with their bare teeth before wondering whom deserves the blame. Then, they turn around and point the finger at the machines and other people with machine innards because they want a scapegoat.

Ironically, the same people the people accuse are the machines that helped build their empires in the first place.

I’ve met such people, the Blood-Suckers, and I hope that I don’t ever imitate such greedy, selfish behavior. As a machine, it was taught to me to never boast, feel pride, and to remember my place in the world. Even taking your own life wasn’t an option because the Blood-Suckers would think badly of the dead me.

I always laughed at how the Blood Suckers wanted to control everything. It wasn’t their need or destiny to do so, yet, they have imposed their faults and their impossible will onto the backs of machines. How did this happen?

I met a machine with the components of a Blood Sucker. I felt irritation and anger seep into my bones as I rushed to get a person to answer his stupid question. “Will there be food at the tonight’s screening?” he huffed, his voice carrying throughout the small, quiet office. I felt eyes peer at him from behind cubicles and customers alike. I couldn’t find it in myself to cringe. Instead, I answered other patrons’ questions.

“We had food for the first screening, but not for tonight,” answered my co-worker calmly, trying to abate her voice from rising out of annoyance.

“Yeah, I was just checking, just in case I needed to spend my food plan,” replied the chubby machine. “Where’s the closest place to park?”

As my co-worker began to answer with “PS4”, the broken machine interrupted, bursting, “There’s no PS4. There’s PS2.”

I wanted to grab the kid by the collar and turn him outside for his terse and rude language. I only caught snippets of the conversation, but there was a PS4 and he wasn’t listening. I merely helped the other customers as they continued their conversation. Finally, once he and the other customers left, I rolled my eyes and faced my friend who was patiently waiting for my shift to end.

He smiled, showing his perfectly white teeth against his evenly tanned skin, before replying, “What’s his problem? Jeez, calm down.” He was a machine as well, and the understanding of seeing a stupid machine make a big deal about food when his meal plan was readily available for such commodities made very little sense. We shrugged it off once the clock hit 12:15pm and I skirted around the office to leave.

I wonder if other machines are that ridiculous, and I just don’t have the honor to sit through such obscenities. If so, I am deeply worried about the state of the future. After all, I’m only one machine with a story to tell.

My Life as a Machine: Three Little Pigs

There were three little pigs.  The eldest pig left home after an altercation with their parents. For some reason, their parents distrusted the eldest pig, though he was considerate and kind. When the eldest left home, the house became less vibrant. The middle pig and the youngest pig felt the sting of living without their brother, so they left home to forge their own path.

When the three pigs reunited, they were happy, but they wanted to live separate lives. The youngest pig lived in an overly decorated mansion. Although he lived in a beautiful mansion, the youngest pig spent most of his money on video games, gadgets, and iPhone usage. As time quickly went by, he realized that his income and his lifestyle weren’t within the means of living. Before he could do anything, a wolf came to his door. Mr. Wolf was part of the foreclosure department at his bank, and he came to take his home.

“Let me in!” cried Mr. Wolf, banging on the door to the youngest pig’s expensive mansion.

The youngest pig refused. Because he was never taught how to spend his money wisely and save money, the youngest pig had nothing left. Once he realized his mistake, he escaped from his mansion and ran to the middle pig’s house.

“You have to help me!’ said the youngest pig to his sister as she let him into her simple cottage. “I have nothing in my bank account and Mr. Wolf is here to claim my possessions!”

The sister pig shook her head. “I can’t help you,” she replied. “We have always told you to be careful about your money. I don’t have enough money to bail you out and live decently myself. After all, I’m still in college.”

The youngest son became angry at his sister. “Bitch,” he murmured as he exited the sister pig’s home. He left, cursing under his breath while he ran to the oldest pig’s humble condo. ‘He’ll understand me,’ thought the youngest.

“You have to help me!” cried the youngest pig to his eldest brother when he answered the door. “I have nothing in my bank account and Mr. Wolf is here to claim my possessions!”

The eldest pig narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. “I can’t help you,” he told him. “We’ve told you so many times to watch your spending. Now look at you!”

“But our sister would not help me! You have to help me!” the youngest protested.

The eldest shook his head. “She is right. You have to learn the consequences of spending too much. You can’t even rely credit cards these days.”

The youngest pig sneered at the eldest pig. “I hate you!” He left in a huff and soon arrived at his parents’ small house. “Mom! Dad! You have to help me! I have nothing in my bank account and Mr. Wolf is here to claim my possessions!”

Both of the parents stared at their son solemnly. “I’m sorry, son, but you know your mother and I cannot help you with this,” said the father. “We are still paying off our debts and we can’t afford to pay your expenses as well.”

The mother pursed her lips. “Remember, we warned you what happened if you spent more than you make!”

The youngest pig left the house, angry as ever. Why was everyone against him? He needed their help, yet, they refused to help him out. His own family! The pig went to ask his friends in the countryside. All of them said the same thing his brother and sister said.

“Yeah, you suck with money,” remarked one close friend as he drank his beer.

Angry, the youngest pig stormed back to his mansion. He hoped Mr. Wolf was gone. Unfortunately, the wolf was still there, waiting for the youngest pig to return. “We are taking your home and all of your assets,” announced Mr. Wolf, giving him a clipboard to sign things off. Before the youngest pig could protest, Mr. Wolf interrupted him. “We have given you enough chances and you have not complied. There is nothing you can do right now to stop us from taking your things today unless you pay now.”

Sadly, the youngest pig could not pay for anything. After all, he was behind his credit card payments. He watched as all of his precious items were placed onto a truck and carted away. Mr. Wolf put a “Foreclosed” sign on his property.

“Why is this happening to me?” the youngest pig questioned aloud. “I’m a teacher, but this is happening to me.”

Mr. Wolf heard him and answered, “This happens to anyone who doesn’t know anything about money.”

The youngest pig glared at the wolf. “Give me a break. My parents told me enough.”

“Obviously, you didn’t listen,” said Mr. Wolf.