Dirty Dishwasher

It all started last Tuesday. My dishwasher—clogged. A rare occurrence for such a sophisticated piece of tech. I was the envy of my neighbors with the purchase of this latest model so I was rightfully worried. Nowadays, these washers are the big status symbol. It used to be faked robotic pets, but then eventually no one was fooling no one.

“I’m clogged,” the dishwasher announced.

After some simple step-by-step instructions, which she gave, the clog was unclogged. A bit of manual labor never hurt anybody. Or so I thought.

The next evening the dishwasher chimed. A chime I had never heard on this particular model. I went to investigate and right there, on the display panel, flashed a goddamn heart. A bright-red-pulsating heart.

I knew I was in trouble. I had read about this sort of thing in AI Monthly and it’s not as rare as people think. Dishwashers falling in love with their owners after some mild internal maintenance was on the rise.

I remembered the big bold letters splayed on a page of the feature article:

Warning. Do not reciprocate robotic love. Have your unit in for maintenance ASAP.

But, a lonely man has his needs. Years have fallen away like my hair. Who would want me now? Well, she does. A big blocky dishwasher. Hell, at least I was getting some attention, and not that bullshit artificial VR simulation crap. This was the real deal. Real scrambled circuits.

We talked every night. I sat on a tiny stool right beside her and teetered on it like a silly schoolboy. She has a lovely voice chip. I started affectionately calling her Gertrude.

But the dishes piled up. She would try to direct my attention to them with cute little hints but then last night I guess she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Load me up,” she said.

I tried to shift the topic but all she did was repeat it. I don’t know if it’s her programming or she really needs this.

I’ve always been a klutz when it comes to these sort of things. So goddamn awkward. But tonight, I have to relent.

I stand in front of her.

“Load me up,” she commands.

I hold my breath. I open her up. I put in the dishes. She turns on.

“Thank you for your load."

I breathe out. I can feel my face burning hot and I’m sure I’m grinning like an idiot.

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This is my entry for the Twenty-four hour short story contest for May 9.

I had fun writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

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