Manufactured

 Travis sat in the comfortable company chair, adjusting his lucky tie and wiping the sweat on his manilla folder. He set it on the faux Mahogany coffee table, hoping his matches would like what they read in his resume and cover letter. No one yet sat opposite the fresh graduate in the room that sparkled white like toothpaste; he'd gladly wait. 

Strumming his fingers on the table, Travis didn't know what to expect from this, from a preliminary partner interview. His neck hitched as his head looked to the door, willing it to swing open, but then he looked down at himself and wondered how to position himself. Hands clasped on the table? No, too formal, but what about leaning back with an arm over the back? Nope, that felt even worse. Travis didn't want to resort to looking through his credentials; he didn't want the first thing a potential spouse to see when they walked through the door was him self-absorbingly flipping through his life. 

The still air in the room smelled stale. Clean, but the chemicals from the scrubbing solution leeched the cubicle of life. Like no one else had been in this room in a long time. 

Funny. The old television shows Travis and his nana used to watch had a room like this in every cop show. 

God, how he wished he knew more what to expect. His parents, who went through the same process when they first met, said that the matching company changed the methodology each time. The application merely told him a time and place. Mercifully, a knock came on the door.

The door opened to an android.

An older model that resembled an unmoving human of chrome, though from the waist down, the facade faded, where a cylindrical collection of wires allowed the half-body to roll around on quiet wheels. Travis felt more confused than relieved; these models served primarily as menial labor droids. 

The android positioned itself across from him, lowering itself to eye level. Its eyes light up as its unmoving mouth, a speaker, said in a delightfully distorted feminine voice, "Hello, and welcome. Is your name Travis Berkley?"

Travis cleared his throat, "Yes, may I ask what this is?"

"I will be conducting your preliminary interview for a romantic partner. Are you ready to begin?" Travis' eyebrow caught on a hook. He shrugged it off after a moment, supposing they needed to get to know him first. He nodded.

"Excellent!" the android's voice gave way to a short audio recording of a confetti popper. "Please answer every question to the best of your ability. Time is not a factor, so you may take as long as you need to formulate a response. First question: What are you looking for in a partner?"

Despite himself, Travis smiled, thinking of someone he wanted to adore, and replied, "I want to meet someone with spontaneity, someone that will get me out of my comfort-"

"I'm sorry," the android interrupted, "I was unclear. What physical traits are you looking for in a partner?"

"Physical traits? L-like if they're a man or a woman?" 

The android's gears whirred as it nodded, "Correct, but it would also be beneficial to know your preferences in appearance, style, hair, eye color, height, and weight."

Travis scoffed, "Seriously?" The android nodded again. "Uh, o-okay, I'd say my preference is girls, but I haven't done anything like this yet - I don't know what I like. And, well, as for," he found himself grimacing as he objectified, "Physical traits- you know what? Do I need to specify my preference for someone's weight?"

Something in the android's neck clicked, and its head tilted, imitating confusion, "You are not required, but the more information you provide our reputable algorithm, the more quickly we can match you with your perfect partner."

"Even someone's physique?"

"Of course!" the android spoke matter-of-factly, "Our research in human neurobiology supports that our clients release oxytocin - the hormone of passion - more readily with someone they find physically attractive. This significantly expedites the emotional attachment process." The android paused, and Travis sank further into his chair, his sour face matching his thoughts. The android said, "My programming includes emotional recognition software - it indicates you are displeased. I assert that you want to say something but are unsure of how to say it - this is a safe space, and you may discuss kinks and fetishes-"

Travis frantically waved his hands to stop the android, "No, no! No, no. Trust me, that's not what I was thinking."

"What are you thinking then, Mr. Berkley?"

He didn't hesitate, "That sounds so wrong. I mean, where's the romance? Is this really how it's always been?"

"Not always, Mr. Berkley. Before our guaranteed matching method of partners, humans used to evaluate the physical traits of others in photos and attempt to entice others with short biographies; these included life stories, philosophies, and, frequently, risque innuendos."

Travis scratched at his pants' fabric, sparking static, and he ruefully thought it was the only 'spark' he would feel today. He shook his head, realizing his mistake. Assigning partners took away the mystery; it assured compatibility, nothing more. 

"I think I'm done, actually," Travis told the android.

"Do you wish to save your progress for when you return-"

"No, I won't be coming back," Travis sharply said as he picked up his folder. They asked him to bring in his financials, for Christ's sake! Passion shouldn't account for how big a paycheck you earn.

"Mr. Berkley, we do not issue refunds-"

Travis left the door open as he left the android behind. He didn't care about the money. Travis waited until after graduating to do this and quietly berated himself for doing so as he stormed down the maze of identical hallways. If not for directions at every turn, Travis would never have escaped this place - he realized the company built it fully automated when he androids talking with other clients - others duped like him - likely with all of the human higher-up sycophants working remotely and reaping millions for no work. 

Exiting the inviting, pristine lobby like glossy ivory, Travis emerged into the world where the company held sway over almost everything else - the driverless hovercars, the many, many storefronts of consumerism, and the interspersed space elevators for a quick trip to the lunar blowouts. He angrily clawed at his tie to get it off; the garment suffocated him.

"Oi, you look angry than I feel, mate," a funny voice from Travis' left said.

Scowling, Travis turned and saw a woman of punk and leather leaning against the building, her shoeprint leaving mud on white. A cigarette hung from a rueful smile, and some of the woman's raven hair hung low, covering part of her face. 

"G'day, g'day," the Aussie said, flicking away the cigarette haphazardly. Travis tracked the tobacco's path, a speck of ashy vice on the white concrete. Passerby, entering or exiting the building for their romantic endeavors, shook in shock that someone could blemish the ground and sin so terribly.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Travis replied formally.

"Oi, do I look like a madame to you? Eh, forget it. You're bein' nice when you're angry." she looked younger in the rebellious ensemble but not by much compared to Travis.

"What gave me away?" Travis asked sardonically, trying not to look at the mangled tie in one hand and the now-crumpled manilla folder in the other.

Shrugging, the woman crossed her arms and bit out as she walked closer to him, "Looks like you walked out on the prim an' propers, same as me. Felt too unnatural in there; they didn't have me hooked up or plugged me with an IV or anything, but it felt just as invasive." 

Travis spoke without thinking, "It was manufactured. Like I was - like ordering for a spouse."

The woman flashed him a smile and held out a hand, "Name's Charlie." She replaced the 'r' in her name with a 'w'. Did Travis detect regret or sorrow in her voice? He shook the extended hand, her grip stronger than necessary.

"Travis Berkley."

"Nice to meet you, Travis. Walk with me? I don't know my way around the city." Charlie headed down the stairs ahead of him. 

Following her without a second thought, Travis inquired, "What brings you here?"

"My divorce," Charlie said flatly. His surprise must have been priceless because she cajoled, "Don't look so nervous! I'm not a pariah. I married out of secondary school - I know, right? But we had known each other since we were kids."

"I'm sorry," Travis said. He envied her, finding someone outside the system without a background check and interview. Charlie probably didn't feel that way, given how it ended.

"Uh uh," Charlie waved away the sympathy. "I'll clock you if you apologize again over nothing." After a few steps of silence, she sighed through her nose, "Eh, I'm sorry, Berkley; I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't want to crimp your shirt." She flicked out the tip of her tongue. Travis chuckled, looking down at his attire. Ridiculously overdressed and trying too hard, he regarded, hating the squeak of his shoes at every step.

"What? This doesn't work for you?" Travis laughed at himself.

"Oh, no, not for me, but my Gran would treasure an evening with a dapper gentleman like you," Charlie elbowed him hard enough that Travis's hand went to rub his arm.

"Oh, God, please. I'm desperate for some romance, but I'd like to meet someone from my era." It didn't bother Travis that he didn't know where they were going, nor did it cross his mind how others on the street saw him and Charlie. How juxtaposed his sky-blue linens went with her black jacket and torn red undershirt.

"You won't find it back there, mate," Charlie gestured behind them. The words set in with her, and she sagged, slowing her gait. 

After a moment to muster the courage, Travis asked, "Why did you go then?"

Shrugging, she sounded like she tested how the answer sounded, "It was part of the settlement; he was definitely at the wrong end - I know all divorcees say that, but trust me, it is. Anyway, his parents made sure he owned up and did as right by me as he could."

A stray holo they passed advertised, "Make your life worth living with the all-new neurotransmitter enhancement," Travis tuned out the rest and remained silent.

"I didn't even go in; I didn't want to. I need to hurt for a bit longer, y'know?"

"I could understand why. I get the sense that it was a one-sided problem - don't harp on yourself while you ache," Travis welcomed her openness; it didn't come off as over-indulgent or too clingy, but simply candor. In return, and out of primitive male biology concerning a pretty woman and natural human empathy, he enjoyed conversing with her. 

"You think I would?" Charlie challenged. She jutted her chin to the sky, squaring her shoulders. 

They sidestepped a huddle of bustling tourists hogging the sidewalk, shop-hopping with dutiful synthetics carrying their latest haul of mercantilism in bags that flashed with lights of advertisements. It gave Travis a moment to formulate his response. He didn't want to upset her further, but Charlie didn't seem the type to take sugarcoating.

"I think the trust you gave them hurts." When scorned, passion's touch turned to barbs under the skin, in the heart.

"Whatever they did, I'm sorry it happened, Charlie. You seem lovely and sincere, so I can't say why; I'm sure you're trying to rationalize it, too. I guess that's where the ache would come from - trying to reason with something so exposing."

Charlie, taken aback, studied Travis for a few paces before saying, "Lotta assumptions you just made, but I can't be too mad since you got some of them right. How'd you do that?"

Sheepishly, Travis pawed the back of his head with a clammy hand, "I just... I thought I knew what having someone would feel like. My parents were happy, but I wanted something more than what they had - something raw and exciting." Travis gestured behind him, "Clearly, I didn't find it."

"Well," Charlie rapped her knuckles against Travis' shoulders, "We got ourselves a romantic!" 

"Eh, about twenty minutes ago, it dawned on me that I was trying to live in one of those old romance films. Look at all this; it's all so orderly and manufactured. Algorithms account for everything - how could I find someone in an age like this?"

"You'll find them, mate." Did Travis hear something softer in Charlie's voice?

"Say, I'd like to keep hashing out my personal life with a stranger, but can I at least know where we're heading?"

"I was following you!"

"I'm new to the city, Travis! I up and jumped ship a month ago to get away from my ex!" Charlie laughed, and it sounded like an airy hoot. 

Travis chuckled along with her and suggested, "Uh, well, I haven't made any plans for the rest of the day-"

"Don't make plans, just live in the moment, mate," Charlie said, but Travis's heartbeat quickened, hearing something else. He decided to make his own romance.

Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his collar, Travis asked, "Y'know, they still have a zoo in the city, one of the few left on the West Coast. Want to tag along?"

Charlie's grin looked slightly unhinged when she said, "Hell yeah! I hope they have penguins!" 

They found they had the zoo mainly to themselves, and Travis found out that Charlie had never seen a penguin, denied that fireflies existed, claiming that 'A bug with a butt that lights up wasn't real,' and promptly shrieked when Travis pointed one out to her near the butterfly exhibit. They lost track of time, half of the time learning more about the other and the remainder of the time wiping the dust off the plaques so they could learn more about each animal. Travis often caught himself staring at someone so full of energy who fell wholly silent and enraptured when reading - someone full of life who could also slow down to enjoy it.

Enjoying the escapade, they agreed to meet the next day and the one after. Charlie opened up more, and Travis let his hair down. Not long after, they began dating, either watching cheesy romance DVDs Travis' grandparents left for him or Charlie dragging him by the elbow for their next great adventure.

Travis fell entirely for the one who matched his passion for life, and Charlie, in turn, found blissful happiness with her faithful dork of a husband.