[Chimaera182]

Well... I wrote a science fiction short story for my SciFi class. I hated it, as I do everything I do, but my teacher loved it, and a co-worker--who I named a character for, and she is conceited so she had to read it for her namesake--loved it, and another co-worker saw the first page and loved it, so I figure I'll post it here so someone will hate it like me.

And despite my best efforts, my "short" story turned out to be 18 pages (double-spaced). And there's a whole part missing near the end--well not missing, it was never written--but when I realized the main character goes from hating technology to loving it without there being an explanation... I almost swore quite loudly during my SciFi final. Boy, that would've been embarrassing.

The door swung open, pulling Buck’s attention away from his old-style book. That makes twelve, he thought dryly as he watched the man approach. The person walked by rigidly, not paying Buck any mind.
As Buck watched number twelve, thirteen passed him by. Thirteen, like the twelve before, slapped the switch and the door swung ponderously open. “No, I went out last night,” thirteen was saying, shifting the oppressive weight of his single binder from his left to his right hand. A brief glance was all it took: the metallic glint of the implant was easily visible behind the man’s ear. “No, it was okay. I didn’t drink too much, though,” he continued, his voice waning as the distance between them increased. “I—“ The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest of his conversation.
Buck glowered through the glass door at the receding figure. However did people survive before the CRAPs?
The CRAP—Cognitive Rendering Automatic Phone—implant was still relatively new. The device worked by transmitting sound information from one end of a telephone line directly to the user’s brain. It was a hands free model that wasn’t as cumbersome as the headset version. One didn’t have to worry about dropping the phone, forgetting to bring it with them, or even forgetting to take it off. And the unit was easy to use and it could never be turned off. It had taken a while for people to get used to the idea, though; seeing men in business suits wandering down the street, seemingly talking to themselves, elicited quite the stir. Now, however, it seemed as if everyone was doing it, like the whole world had gone crazy around him. Buck hated such invasive technology, but apparently the people were all for it: the masses were eagerly going out and buying the implants, paying exorbitant fees for the surgery and the monthly phone bills. Apparently, having computers spliced into one’s brain was all the rage. So what do I know? he thought sarcastically.
Tired of waiting for his next class, he gathered his things and stood. Not bothering with the switch, Buck heaved the door open.
The dim, filtered sunlight paled in comparison to the bright afternoon lights that illuminated the hall. The useless music that was being broadcast via the loudspeakers was a bare murmur compared to the echo of the several hundred conversations taking place. Buck surveyed the situation. A crowd of people had huddled together at the foot of the escalator, waiting to ascend to the next floor. The stairs, in contrast, were nearly empty. Buck took those. As he climbed, he could just feel the stares that his choice elicited. “He’s taking the stairs? Why not just use the escalator and not have to climb?”
Once he made it to the top, it took a second to orient himself. To his left, another mass of people stood before the elevator doors, waiting so they wouldn’t have to walk down the one flight of stairs. In front of him were the doors to the cafeteria, which slid open as anyone approached. He sighed and went inside.
The cafeteria was crowded, as usual. Everyone was seated at the numerous tables, and servers came around to take their order. Buck looked around for a familiar face, but didn’t see any; just the countless faces of nameless people scattered throughout the expansive room. He settled on a table by himself and took a seat.
It didn’t take long for a server to come by. “Good afternoon and thank you for coming to the Stryder Café. Can I take your order?” he asked mechanically, and Buck idly wondered how long it had taken him to memorize his speech.
“I’ll just take a plate and go to the salad bar,” he said, already knowing the answer.
“We have prepared salads so you don’t have to.”
Buck’s eyebrows rose. “I would rather take a plate and do it myself.”
“Wouldn’t you rather not leave the comfort of your seat?”
“No,” he stated firmly. “Please let me have a plate so I can make my own salad.”
The server sighed with defeat. “Very well, sir,” he said, turning on his heel and marching off in a huff.
“You always have to make it hard on them, don’t you?” a wry voice said from behind him. Buck turned back to find Eve standing there, grinning down at him. “Can’t you just let them bring you your food for once?”
Buck crossed his arms and turned forward again, saying, “I’m not a baby; I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Eve replied, coming around the table to sit across from him. “But they’re paid to bring food to you. You don’t have to do it yourself.”
“What’s the point of a salad bar if I can’t go to it myself? Besides, maybe their lettuce looks rank and I wanna substitute it with something else? Then they have to take it back, re-do the order—“
“I get your point,” Eve interrupted, her eyes rolling. “But wouldn’t you like to actually be waited on once?”
“Dude, there’s no reason for me to have to let other people do for me what I’m capable of doing myself.”
“Your food, ma’am.”
The server gently placed a styrofoam plate before Eve. He caught Buck’s eye and his eyes narrowed. Clearly, he remembered Buck from a previous visit. “Thank you,” Eve said, oblivious to the sudden increase in tension.
“Not at all,” the server said, turning back to Eve and smiling.
“Now, see, was that so bad?” Eve asked as she tore into her cheesecake.
Before he could reply, the original server returned. “Your plate, sir,” he spat, dropping his plate in front of him. Buck watched the plate as it fluttered to the table. He looked up at Eve, then at the server, and smiled. “The salad bar is over there,” he said, nodding toward the giant sign that clearly stated “Salad Bar.”
“Thank you,” he said sarcastically, but he was already moving away.
Eve shook her head. “Man, you need to relax.”
“You’re kidding, right? That was just uncalled for.”
“It’s what you get when you intentionally provoke the staff,” she shrugged.
It was Buck’s turn to roll his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Hey, listen, do you wanna get together tonight? Me and Cess are going to Chaz and Vince’s for a smoke. I thought I’d break out the ol’ pipe.”
Buck’s eyes widened with surprise. The last he heard of Charles and Cessily, they were going through yet another of their loud and extremely public break-ups. Apparently, they were back together yet again. “I guess. I need some creative inspiration, and getting high’s always helped.”
“Man, you need to find a better, healthier way to get creative,” Eve admonished.
“Like you’re any better; you break out the pipe whenever you think you’ll have a pop quiz in class.”
“And I always pass, don’t I?”
Buck shook his head. “I’ll be there.”