That 'Awkward First Date;

George had never been a ‘handkerchief in the top pocket’ kind of guy. He didn’t possess many clean white handkerchiefs that could fulfil the purpose, and there never seemed to be an occasion special enough to warrant buying one. And yet today he pressed a crisp, ivory, Egyptian cotton handkerchief into the top pocket of his blazer and examined himself in the mirror.

“You will more than do, sir.” He said it as if offering an objective fact to a stranger.

Unusually, he also placed a hat on his neatly combed hair—again, he made a special journey to buy the hat. But where do you buy a hat in a world so opposed to them? He could find baseball caps, turbans, and beanie caps, but the occasion called for something more formal. It was at a rundown charity shop that he finally found one, a pleasant grey fedora that made him look like Dean Martin (to those who only knew Dean Martin from history books).

George ambled out of the house with a skip in his step, something invested into his walk by his optimism for the events of the day. He was to meet a woman and, if his charm was working as effectively as his apparel, take her to dinner somewhere aspirational. Budget was no barrier to the meal; if she would accept his company, she could have lobster, the finest steak, or that stuff that comes from the livers of French geese.

His countenance conveying this quiet contentment with his lot, George ignored the disapproving looks. Some wondered what he was doing out of the house. Others tutted at how ridiculously cheerful he was. Didn’t he know his place? But his injection of youthful vigor—usually an alien concept to him—made him assertive, and he was proud to be walking around the area. He tipped his hat to strangers, not caring if this old-fashioned code of politeness was even understood by said stranger. It was his part in an anachronistic tradition that he valued, not the response, which ultimately oscillated between bemusement, good humour, or judgmental muttering.

On arriving at his destination, he knocked on the door with all of the relish that had built up within him. He refused to use the electronic doorbell and hear that infernal ‘pling plong’ followed by the friendly greeting. He had always been suspicious of the invention, citing that it was the beginning of the end of humanity, but his protestations were treated with derision. Oddly, as time passed, that derision lessened. Had people come to his way of thinking, or had he just been less interested in their responses? Whatever the reason, he was not going to compromise his principles on today of all days. His knock was sufficient, though, and the door was opened to reveal a woman in a flowery silk dress.

“My, my, what a wonderful-looking woman!” George said as he tipped his hat.

“Why, thank you! You scrub up rather well yourself.” The woman replied. “I’m Lotte, short for Charlotte.”

“Well, Lotte—short for Charlotte—I’m very pleased to meet you. I have a table booked at ‘L’Auberge Rouge’ if you’ll accompany me.”

There was a pause.

“Do you want to check with your folks? You can look me up online—I don’t have any criminal convictions or history of unpleasantness. I can assure you I’m a first-class specimen. Apart from the obvious.”

George’s words amused Lotte. All except the final line, which caused her to frown.

“That’s unnecessary, George.” She said. Before he could worry that he had ruined the date, she switched to a more agreeable tone. “A meal with you at ‘L’Auberge Rouge’ would be wonderful.”

She skipped over the doorstep, locked the door, and threw a gloved hand out to him as a hint. He took the suggestion and placed her hand in his. This increased his sense of well-being.

“You can have anything you want, Lotte. Even that stuff that comes from the livers of geese.” He said as if to further his sales pitch.

“Oh no, I’ve seen how they make that stuff. Force-feed the poor geese. Very cruel.” Lotte said.

“We’re all geese now,” George muttered to himself before nodding to Lotte. “As you wish, Lotte. And can I say that you smell divine? Like a sweet memory from a forgotten age.”

Lotte smiled. The compliment made her squeeze his hand. The unexpected addition of pressure made him twitch, though he quickly recalibrated his emotions.

“What a wonderful day for a wonderful day,” George said.

The two walked through the bustling city and observed all of the shining edifices, towering steel columns, and tightly packed transport that whizzed by. On another day, they might be populating one of these, but today was all about a relaxing walk and a wonderful meal. If there was a time to dance, this could also be considered, though finding a place that would play something to polka might be a stretch. There were old-fashioned jukeboxes that might offer the service, usually placed in those retro bars that celebrated the fashion of a century before. George was sure that he knew of one a short walk from the large, brightly coloured building that dominated the horizon.

That building. It was a mixture of large glass windows and dazzling facades that stood out from all of the others. While other structures had a vague interest in aesthetics, the large building courted the appreciation of the masses, practically begging those seeing it to warm to its presentation. And yet George shuddered every time he saw it. ‘Like dressing a warthog in Dior,’ he once remarked. Nevertheless, today was not the moment for thoughts on aesthetics and the ominous use of artifice and design. Today was the day for eating something very fine and looking at a splendid figure in front of him.

George and Lotte arrived at an opulent hotel, onto which a no less impressive restaurant had been affixed. Not opened at the same time perhaps, but ‘L’Auberge Rouge’ was a delectable addition to an old institution. There was a doorman, a real doorman kitted out in a morning suit and top hat, and not some modern interpretation of what one should look like. This was someone positioned outside the venue who clearly knew their task, and their suit had the hotel's monogram on it in gold thread.

“Look at that, Lotte. Have you seen anything like that before?” George announced as the doorman tipped his hat.

“A long, long time ago, George. Almost a lifetime ago, it seems.” She opined.

“Welcome, sir and madam.” The doorman beamed as they entered through the opening he made.

George and Lotte looked at each other, their eyes sparkled, and they presented themselves to the cavernous interior of the restaurant. Even the ominous chime of the clock in the hallway—a sound that should have been a portent to all—didn’t stop their amusement at their surroundings. The maitre d', noting how out of place they were, arrived in front of them immediately.

“Good evening, do you have a booking?” He said with a discernible hope that the answer would be ‘no.’

George was prepared for the discomfort and reached into his pocket to pull out a laminated token.

“I think this will suffice. I do have it downloaded on my phone if you would prefer,” George announced.

The maitre d' looked down, saw the token, and scuttled off nervously as if presented with a warrant for his arrest.

“Y’know, I always wanted to be able to present something to someone and say, ‘There you go’ in a ‘Do you know who you’re dealing with?’ kind of way.”

“What do you mean?” Lotte said.

“Well, you see these adverts where someone pops a credit card down on a silver platter and everyone starts practically bowing to them. Never understood it, but always wondered what wielding such power would be like.” He mused as they sat down together and had the chairs neatly pushed behind them.

“And how was it, George?” Lotte inquired.

“In light of everything, it's kind of empty. No, not empty, as I got to do it in front of the woman I love, but in the context of things…” George bumbled, noting that he would never want to offend Lotte but had other considerations in mind. “Well, let’s eat, drink, and be merry for,” he paused.

“I wonder if they have turbot? I’ve never had turbot.” Lotte interrupted.

“If they haven’t got turbot, I’ll kick up a fuss.”

“You’ve never kicked up a fuss before,” Lotte said.

George motioned for her to ‘shush.’

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, dear. But we have to stay “in the moment.” He explained.

‘L’Auberge Rouge’ does serve turbot. To say it as simply as that may be a disservice to the chef, though; they pan-fry the turbot in truffle butter, drizzle a house special pea and samphire volute, and crown the fish with aged pork belly shavings. This, under no circumstances, could be considered ‘serving’; this was a majestic offering that was ‘suggested’ onto the table and gently absorbed under the tongue of the diner. Lotte’s eyes lit up with each portion as it fizzed on contact with her taste buds. George preferred the most expensive steak they had. It was an aged tomahawk steak that had a barely believable price next to it. He didn’t know what ‘Bitcoin’ was, but this magnificent dish could be acquired using it.

The couple drank expensive wine without knowing why it was expensive. What might have been an ‘awkward first date’ was a couple of enraptured hours where even the most mundane minutiae were dissected by the pair. George’s jokes were on point for the first time in years, and Lotte’s nervy attempt at flirtatious signals appeared to be receiving the correct response. Once they had their fill of what the restaurant offered (George was determined to try a bit of every dessert on the menu), they elected to continue their evening at one of the retro bars that had appeared on the seedier side of the city. As they went, one of the patrons of ‘L’Auberge Rouge’ motioned for a waiter to come over to them.

“Tell me, what are people of that age doing around?” they asked the waiter.

The waiter noted the complaint but mentioned the token that the couple had.

The retro bars, designed for less discerning persons who are still under the spell of nostalgia, are in a dilapidated row at the side of the city where a George and Lotte would not be found. Someone once proved the link between nostalgia and other forms of degeneracy, and since then, they have all been huddled together away from view. George was not afraid of the surroundings and told Lotte that he grew up there and that tonight, nothing could scare him. She took that to mean that her beauty emboldened him. That was half true.

George and Lotte found a piece of music that would rightfully allow a polka to be danced to it and, despite brief pauses to catch their breath, managed thirty minutes of swift movement.

“Not sure what they put in these pills they give you, but they definitely get the legs moving,” George said.

Somewhere in the city, the most reliable clock of all chimed. It was, in most ways, decorative, as few could read the strange images on it, but when it made a sound, everything stopped. It also meant that the car that was to collect George and Lotte was now dispatched, and their night was about to conclude.

“Oh well, the night is about to end. Everything ends, I suppose. Still, I think it’s been a wonderful ‘first date.’” George said confidently.

“That it has. It definitely went more smoothly than the first time. Remember when you forgot your wallet and I got my heel stuck in a drain?”

“Who could forget that! If nothing else, I’m so happy to be able to redo it correctly.” George remarked.

“Before anything else, I just want to say that, George Walker, I have enjoyed being married to you for ninety years. We’ve seen so much and done so much, and I don’t regret a single moment. If nothing else, I love you so much.” Lotte said.

“Well, Lotte Walker, I love you too. I’ve half a mind to ignore them when the car turns up. I mean, telling people who does this and when someone’s time is…it’s insanity.” George said. “I really thought there’d be more time.” He added with anger.

“Come on, George, if we don’t go, then think of the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You know what it’ll mean for them to have ‘Coffin Dodgers’ on their record. They need their jobs and homes, dear.” Lotte replied as she squeezed George’s arm.

“‘Coffin dodgers’? Is that what they call us? We’ve moved on from Carbon Inefficient Citizens and EcoDrains, I see. Still, you’re right about the family, I suppose.” George sighed.

The car came. It couldn’t be avoided. A ninety-three-year-old had climbed Mount Fuji to avoid it, but the Japanese were even more efficient at tracking than the West and sent a team to recover them. It had been suggested that the authorities should just let the escaping veteran stay on Fuji and let nature take its course, but the government liked to be sure that the job was done properly. George and Lotte sat in the back, held hands, and watched the city pass by from the windows of the car. They were grateful that modern medicine had allowed them to be so sprightly in their hundredth year, but George still didn’t like the terminal trade-off of modern life.

The driver arrived at the fearsome building quite quickly. George and Lotte observed how ridiculous the intense colors of it were. Even more egregious were the pictures of people in white coats that appeared in the foyer and the slogans stencilled on the walls.

We’ll always appreciate you.

If the planet could speak, it would say, ‘Thank you.’

A life well lived is nothing to regret.

George pointed to the one about the planet speaking and chuckled.

“What a lot of nothing.”

George and Lotte were escorted to the first floor and given a welcome drink and a little green pill. George joked that he better not be turned into Soylent Green, but the worker was too young to understand. A new face appeared, shook their hands, and explained the situation.

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Walker, I hope you enjoyed a lovely evening. I presume the ‘Last Day Token’ worked everywhere it was needed?”

“Yes, it did.” George said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you for being here and offering this valuable service too.” The official added.

“Do we have much choice?” Lotte said.

“Yes, you could be selfish, live beyond your allocated time, and be a carbon thief. But no, you’ve done the right thing and thought about the greater good.”

“If there’s one phrase I’ve come to hate…” Lotte whispered to George.

“So, Mr. Walker, you’re in the Primrose Room, and Mrs. Walker, you are in the Mandarin Room. You’ll find them both beautifully fitted out. The pod is in the middle of the room, so just sit yourself down and we’ll be with you shortly.” The official explained.

“Wait, I thought we had a couple’s room?” George insisted.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Walker. Couple’s rooms are reserved for those rated 95 or more, but you and Mrs. Walker are just under 90.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” George said.

“I’m going by what I have here.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything I can give you?” George asked as he pointed at his watch.

“More than my job is worth, Mr. Walker. To be frank, I’m surprised that an upstanding citizen like you would even suggest it.” The official stated.

Not that George and Lotte were intransigent, but the official thought that both parties would benefit from being ‘escorted’ to their rooms.

“No words, dear,” George said as he was moved into the Primrose Room. He thought he saw Lotte shed a tear but persuaded himself that it wasn’t the case.

The Primrose and Mandarin Rooms are very attractive. They have been carefully furnished with the citizen’s memories and paraphernalia to ensure the evolution from living matter to compost is achieved with utmost consideration. The gas is imbued with a gentle hallucinogenic to give the recipient a soft, floating feeling as the other drugs take effect. George was the first to go, Lotte slightly later; both thought about family, Tuscany, and a dog called Pluto, who they were sure they once owned. A counter online added their names to the list of citizens who had done their duty, and, to some, the Earth seemed to be rotating a little more surely.