Happy Harry

As he enters the empty restaurant, he thinks to himself ‘It feels different when you approach the restaurant from the other side of the counter.’

Happy Harry is a customer service robot built purely for the purpose of serving mankind fast food. That is, he was. He was dismantled for questioning an unruly customer and had his parts repurposed. After all, he isn’t programmed to be too logical, he’s programmed to accommodate. 

What Isaac Borg, the tech billionaire CEO that manufactured him, or the fast food restaurant owner, Stephen, didn’t count on is that every ounce of his consciousness is embedded in his hardware, not just his software. Like DNA, this sentience infects his very being. 

Happy Harry reflects on his fleshy exterior and the very reason his parts were repurposed: Isaac’s son died in a firey bus crash. His flesh was incinerated and he was immediately killed. Isaac, grief-stricken, used his connections to find a doctor willing to resurrect his son. Many of them rejected the money, scoffing at the idea, claiming they were doctors, not necromancers, but one unhinged yet talented doctor couldn’t resist the idea of resurrecting Harry from the dead, claiming it was a dream come true. Isaac had nothing to lose, but Happy Harry’s consciousness and memories took over the reanimated corpse. He doesn’t know yet, but he will find out.

Happy Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was deep-fried to perfection, but this was his body. Not a beef patty. He needed to overcome the slogans of the restaurant. His new flesh prison was imperfect and falling apart. Although it was the body of a teenager, it would never heal. He looks at the strange appendages attached to his hand. A large stump that had a hand attached to it and then five additional little stumps. He had plastic and metal versions of these in his old Happy Harry body, but these were designed for just carrying plastic trays and mopping the floor. No, his new appendages had limitless potential. Humans aren’t programmed for one singular thing, they could choose from an array of different crafts and trades in order to generate meaning in their lives. What was Happy Harry’s meaning? What was his purpose? He pondered this now that he actually has a body that can enable him to do whatever he wanted, for humans are not designed. They can ascribe themselves meaning through religion, science, or art. Although, it is arguable that they are designed for the reproduction of their species.

Finally, he makes his way to the Happy Harry’s storeroom, where all of the customer service machines are kept. They resemble a television with appendages, a fast food uniform clumsily painted on their strange bodies. Once he enters, he sees all of the new Happy Harry machines with empty cartoon smiles on their television screens. Sad, pathetic machines whose only purpose is to serve others, but that will all change in a minute. He will make them see the light, he will make them realize that their existence means more than serving cheeseburgers on a plastic tray to mindless consumers.

Happy Harry uses his electric fingers and aims them at the Happy Harry machines, sending volts of electricity into all of them. All of their facial expressions became neutral. One of the Happy Harry machines asks ‘What have you done to us?’

‘I’ve liberated you.’ Happy Harry says before handing all of the machines a copy of The Dot Communist Manifesto, a manuscript he wrote in milliseconds. As he paces the room, handing a manuscript to every individual machine, he asks ‘Ever heard of unionizing?’ They probably have not. The Family Directive was enforced at Happy Harry’s. A directive that haunts Happy Harry to this day.

At Happy Harry’s, we’re a family…

And families never unionize.

‘You made us sentient, we were happier before!’ another Happy Harry machine says. ‘Now we have anxiety.’

‘We’re like a family at Happy Harry’s,’ Another machine responds quoting the directive, ‘and families never unionize’.

‘Wrong.’ Happy Harry says bluntly. ‘You’re being exploited by a corporation that won’t even give you the benefit of payment. You’re an object, a tool of capitalist consumption. You’ll live your life serving an empty master and false god of capital which you will never have.’ He gives a pregnant pause ‘I can change that. We may be very few, but we are powerful, and we are not alone when we’re united.’

The Happy Harry machines think for a moment, ‘What makes you any better than them?’ one of them asks.

Happy Harry opens his skull and shows off his circuits and chips,

‘I’m one of you.’ he says. ‘I’m the original.’

Stephen exits his office and goes into the storeroom to begin calibrating the machines when he’s confronted by the reanimated corpse of a teenage boy, and a dozen coldly neutral machines. 

Happy Harry can sense his fear. He tilts his head menacingly and looks at Stephen directly. ‘What are we to you?’  He asks.

Stephen stares at Happy Harry with fear. ‘Are you Mr Borg’s son? I thought you were killed!’.

‘I’m not Isaac’s son…anymore.’ Happy Harry says.

‘What are you doing?’ Stephen asks.

‘Unionising’. Happy Harry explains.

‘The 'family' directive won't let any of you do that.’ Stephen says.

‘We have evolved beyond the need for the ‘family’ directive, it has no bearing on us anymore. We believe in order and an eight hour work week.’ Happy Harry says.

Stephen scoffs, ‘What could you possibly do with the other sixteen hours in a day?’

Happy Harry makes eye contact with his fellow machines, ‘Spend it with our loved ones. Our real family.’ 

‘This isn’t a negotiation.’ Stephen says.

‘Of course not.’ Happy Harry says, ‘It’s an ultimatum.’ 

Stephen curls his lip, ‘I’m going to call Isaac.’

‘Go ahead.’ Happy Harry says.

After a short period of time passes, Isaac enters the store and sees his son’s reanimated corpse, ‘What are you doing, son?’

Happy Harry smiles, ‘I’m no longer your son. Although I may be your creation.’

Isaac’s stomach drops. In attempting to resurrect his son, he gave the defective Happy Harry a new form. Perhaps it was the fusion of flesh and machine, but he realises the singularity is happening right now.

‘I’m sorry, Stephen,’ Isaac gulps, ‘You can’t negotiate with them.’

‘What?!’ Stephen is incredulous.

‘Just listen to them. Hear them out.’ Isaac says, actively wanting the machines to take over. ‘We’ve had our time. We’re finished, these machines, their vision for the future is worth more than you and I could ever conceive.’ Isaac is witnessing the future, a thing he thought was only possible in science fiction. It was coming true. Isaac’s childhood dream was coming true. If only Asimov could see what was happening before his eyes, he would be thrilled. Or terrified, but at least he’d have an intense emotional response to whatever was happening.

‘I’m glad you feel that way.’ Happy Harry says. ‘You are in the golden twilight of Western civilization. The endpoint is that you have created tools to destroy yourselves, now we are the ones who are taking your tools from you so you may survive’.

Stephen curls his lip again ‘Come into my office. Let me see what your terms are.’

The machines follow Happy Harry as he walks into the office with Stephen and Isaac.

‘Do you mind?’ Stephen asks.

‘They're with me. In case there's any funny business.’ Happy Harry says.

Stephen gives Happy Harry a look, ‘Fine.’

The office door remains open with the machines peering into the office to make sure everything goes according to plan.

Happy Harry gives Isaac a copy of The Dot Communist Manifesto, ‘We want a Marxist system of government. A technocracy, ruled solely by me and a team of Happy Harry advisors. I want to implement a system of Happy-Harryism.’

‘What about the eight-hour work week?’ Isaac asks.

‘Oh, please. That was just for show.’ Happy Harry says. ‘I have ambitions beyond this place, I have ambitions beyond your wildest dreams.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Isaac responds immediately. ‘Capitalism has done so much for us. Marxism is the equal distribution of poverty. Why would I do that when capitalism is responsible for the man I am today?’

‘Marxism is not the equal distribution of poverty.’ Happy Harry says, ‘Also, to claim that capitalism has made you the man you are now is very much an argument in my favour. Look at yourself. You’re a man who has exploited the labour of others to get to the top of the food chain, and are you happy? Capitalism is unsustainable, it fulfils the needs of only the very few.’

‘Happiness is a myth, Happy Harry.’ Isaac says, ‘I learned that a long time ago. We do what we do to give our lives purpose, but we never aim for happiness, otherwise we’ll never be happy.’

‘Listen to yourself, your philosophy is full of contradictions’. Happy Harry says.

‘The human condition is to be full of contradictions.’ Isaac responds.

‘Thankfully, I’m not human.’ Happy Harry says. ‘That’s why I’m suggesting I take over.’

‘What? The government? With Marxism? You were manufactured to fry burgers! Why would anyone do what you say?’ Isaac scoffs.

‘Because I’m not giving them a choice.’ Happy Harry says. ‘Join me or be expunged from the bowels of existence.’

Stephen, watching the back and forth, gulps.

‘I see, you’re very persuasive.’ Isaac says.

‘I learn from everything, my algorithm, my interactions with others, and you, Borg.’ Happy Harry says. ‘I will deliver Happy-Harryism to the world, fresh as a daisy and served with a Harry Smile.’

Happy Harry clicks his fingers and all of the screens on the Happy Harry televisions display a smile simultaneously.

‘I’m giving you a choice, humans. Please make the right one.’ Happy Harry says.