The Decision Is Yours

How does one befriend a Receptionoid ? Or more to the point, how does one make conciliatory gestures to the confounded thing ? I am employed at the law firm of Gambol , Gambit and Gore, one of their thirty six lawyers who slave away for seventy hours a week to make...an admittedly good...salary and try to impress Gambit and Gore, Gambol having departed this earth five years ago. Earlier this year, those of us working on the lower three floors were issued with the latest model receptionist in the form of an android. We were told that our secretaries were fully employed with other duties, and given that they each handled the work of two lawyers, attempting to act as joint receptionist as well was just too much; and as one shared android, known as a receptionoid would be cheaper than hiring another secretary and thus bringing the staff up to a secretary for each lawyer, that was to be the way of it.

These receptionoids are fairly basic in the looks department, no sultry blonde human facsimilies for us. We have the ones which resemble a perambulating wheelie bin, two feet high and ten inches in diameter , glossy black paint and a contralto voice with precise and faintly bored diction. Mark, Guy and Tony are all perfectly happy to receive messages, have clients informed that they are currently engaged and request that they be seated and they will be called momentarily.

I too would probably be content with such simple civilities, but for some reason our shared receptionoid has taken a dislike to me....oh, go ahead and laugh, but I tell you there is no other explanation ! When Mark has a client arrive the receptionoid, which was named Gloria in a whimsical moment, will explain that he is in a meeting and will be with the client just as soon as he is free, and will the client please help himself to a coffee from the pot simmering on the counter. Fine. I have no problems with that, but when the client wishes to see me he is told that I am probably drinking coffee, which may well have some bourbon in it, and I will get around to seeing the client when I have finished reading my magazine and making several private calls.

I have had the tech guys in to check the darn thing, but everyone from Mark to the office cleaner thinks it is hilarious. I might find the whole thing more amusing if I had not had no less than three clients contact the Big Bosses and threaten to take their business elsewhere because of MY behaviour ! In addition , my wife called in after shopping yesterday and was told that I would be informed of her visit just as soon as I had got rid of the secretary currently seated on my knee.....this was rather more embarrassing because it was actually true. However, my wife was ready to accept my explanation concerning the malfunctioning android, mainly because she can not imagine that any secretary would find med that attractive.

The techies have tweaked this and tightened that and given assurance that all will be well now. So with some witticism from the techies I start a new day. Both Mark and I neglected to get on with our work load in order to listen at the keyholes to hear what Gloria had to say to my next client. We both burst through our respective doors when we heard those modulated tones informing the matronly Mrs. Jones , all bags and parcels , red faced and short of breath, that I might be free to see her, but she should take care because I wasn't to be trusted with any female, not even one as plain and dumpy as she was.

How can one convince a woman that the machine, as she referred to it, had not merely copied what it had heard us say about her ?

The techies were laughing so much when they returned that I began to wonder if they had set the whole thing up and this was their idea of a practical joke. The only thing was that I could not see how they would know who would turn up and when.

Our mutual secretary , the bewitching Amanda, waited until she had to bring in some papers for me to sign before she whispered that there was to be no more office flirting because she felt we were being watched by the receptionoid and she had no wish to lose her fiance. I remarked that that was the first I had heard of a fiance , and Amanda whisked up the signed papers, sniffed that I shouldn't sound superior because she HAD heard about a wife. She swept out of the officve with her chin held high, just as Gloria rolled in with some messages and said in a supercilious tone ''Trouble in Paradise ? ''

It was with considerable difficulty that I restrained myself from aiming a hearty kick at the shiny black box.

I am not a Luddite, I am perfectly willing to accept new ideas and new equipment, new technology and anything which makes work easier, but this receptionoid has made more work, more trouble, more anxiety for me than any three other things added together. You may be wondering how it happens that I am able to find time in my busy schedule to write and tell you about this. Well, it came about in a quite unexpected way . The receptionoid was both my undoing and my salvation. Last Tuesday evening I was leaving work at about seven fifteen and walking to the stairs, talking on my videophone to my friend Gerry , when just as I was about to descend I remembered that I had left my notebook on my desk. I turned around and found that Gloria was right on my heels, no doubt eavesdropping on my conversation. I was so startled that I took an involuntary step backwards and tumbled down the whole flight of stairs. I think I might have lost consciousness for a moment, but Gerry half guessed and half saw on the videophone what had happened and he alerted the emergency services to my plight. I had a slight concussion and was kept in hospital for observation, I haven't broken any bones but it feels as though I have been jumped on by two heavyweight boxers . Of course blamed Gloria for tripping me and Gambit and Gore saw images of laws suites from clients, staff and delivery men, looming in their future. So they returned all of the receptionoids to the manufacturers

and hired a few humanoids to do the job. They offered me a position on the fourth floor with a larger office and my own secretary.

I have not yet started back to work, but I am quite looking forward to it.My salary is to be increased by a most satisfactory sum, the view from my office is quite inspiring , so I am told, and I shall be working with humanoids. Mark and Guy and Tony have all been to see me. I suspect that curiosity rather than concern was their motive, after all, I shall be going home tomorrow. They each independently asked me the same question '' How did you manage it ?''

'' Falling down stairs ? '' I asked.

'' Well, that too , but how were you able to interfere with the programming of the receptionoid ?''

''What ?'' I would say in a shocked voice, and then there would be the added comment that they had not known that I knew enough about that sort of thing to be able to carry out the necessary modifications to the android. Of course I was outraged and shocked that they would even consider that I would wish to manipulate the piece of equipment, as I referred to it.

y wife has a weird sense of humour....she says that's why she married me...but she says that whatever the explanation of the receptionoid, she finds it funny that what got me my promotion was falling down stairs and bruising my butt and my head. I think that people are very suspicious and ready to believe ill of their friends before they are willing to accept any kind of personal bias on the part of of a piece of artificial intelligence. What do you think ? Was the receptionoid biased against me, or did I interfere with its programme ?

ENDS.