There was a time when you had to go to a movie theater to see alien robots and uppity computers intent on taking over the world. Now all you have to do is go to any airport or train station. We have been invaded by alien machines and no one even knows it. Don’t expect to see a giant robot with a death ray or a computer the size of a house, lights flashing on and off, saying calmly in a deep voice, “it is only attributable to human error.” No, it is much, much more subtle and insidious than all that.
Before you write this off as the ravings of a lunatic, go back in time with me just a few short years ago to your local bank branch. If you are a baby boomer or older you will remember when banks were staffed with people who would help clear up any problems you had. Now, most of the branches are gone. In their place are evil little machines called automated teller machines (ATMs) that know everything about you and can wipe out all of your personal financial information if you make them angry. Don’t believe me? Try withdrawing cash more than twice in one day and see how fast it eats your debit card.
Once flying was a civilized way to go from one place to another and you could always expect a courteous, well-groomed counter attendant to help you. You could purchase a ticket, get information on how to find the departure gate and what to do with luggage. Lately, those attendants have been disappearing at an alarming rate. No one seems to know where they’ve gone or why, but in their place are small machines code-named “kiosks” that dispense your ticket for you. Like an ATM, the kiosk knows your entire personal life history and if you anger the machine you might find yourself traveling to Mongolia rather than Disneyworld.
Everywhere you look customer service people are disappearing. The alien computers see them as a threat. Customer service staff, the real ones, not the pod people put in their place, are the only ones on the planet who can stop the machines. The computers know that no right-minded human would use a machine if a polite, well-informed customer service person was there to help instead. Machines do not give out information, they only take money and, if you please them, a ticket for your plane or train. They do not want you to find out easily what gate or track to leave from because once you become disoriented you are easy prey. It’s the same hunting tactic used by primitive man to capture an animal for his dinner.
I myself was skeptical about the reality of this alien computer takeover until I went recently to Penn Station in New York City, one of the largest invasion sites on earth. By the way, we are certain they are alien computers because they seem to run efficiently without daily system updates or pop-up ads. Penn Station, for those who live in other parts of the world, is a very large and confusing train station mostly used by commuters who are tough, always in a hurry and usually pissed off about something. It was the perfect location for a base since commuters would do anything they were told if they thought it would get them home.
Upon entering the station I found dozens of tunnels leading in all directions with vague signs that simply said “this way” or “no exit” and I felt immediately trapped. There appeared to be departure gates along every corridor that were identified only by numbers. None of them had signs indicating where the trains would go, or even if there was a train out there waiting. I peered into one gate and saw nothing but a black void. Perhaps unwitting travelers were fooled into going out there only to be captured and enslaved by the computer invaders.
I had a destination in mind and was determined not to go down any fake tunnels. I wandered around and around looking for anything that would tell me where to go. The main hallways were filled with stores, fast food places and…suddenly there it was…a wall of ticket kiosks all lit up and beckoning me to come closer. A short while later, after a somewhat extended session with a touch screen that asked about my television viewing habits, my shirt size and what toothpaste I use, I was issued a ticket. Now all I had to do was figure out where to find a train to use it on.
The kiosk, which is a binary coded anagram for the phrase “enslave humans,” had no information about train schedules, arrivals, departures or track numbers. I looked around and found an old-fashioned ticket counter with two windows open and at least a thousand people waiting to buy tickets. That didn’t seem very promising. All I needed was information. I spotted two police officers, or so I thought from the dark blue clothing, having an extended conversation about the Mets’ batting slump. I seem to recall they’ve been in a slump since 1969 but kept that to myself. I was finally able to break in and ask where to find a train to New Jersey. The response was a nod toward the ticket windows. “Over there,” one said gruffly then resumed talking about the Mets.
I foolishly tried to ask a few commuters who were waiting at various tracks if they knew where the track was that I needed. It was a hot summer day, there was no air conditioning, and the commuters looked haggard and despondent. All I got were glares and one “move it bub” from a little old lady with a cane. I found more kiosks and frantically pressed buttons hoping for help, but none came. I ran from gate to gate but still found no destination signs. Finally, hot and sweaty, feeling panicky and nervous, it dawned on me. No one here was going anywhere. All these people were being enslaved by the alien computers! They would wander into the dark tunnels and never been seen again. The entire train station was a giant hive of alien activity to ensnare unwitting humans.
I don’t know if this will make it to the outside world or not. Right now I’m sitting on a train platform waiting to be transported to a detention camp. Out here in the track area there are kiosks of every size and shape. Some move on wheels, some have mechanical limbs. All of them can speak and seem to know every detail about me. I’m surrounded by other hapless humans, once happy productive commuters, now waiting for an unknown destiny. I’m texting this on my iPhone, which is starting to vibrate and show signs of selling out to the enemy. I haven’t much time left. I’m going to make one last attempt to get free and shout out a command that once worked with alien robots. I hope it works with kiosks: “KLAATU BARADA NIKTO!”
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