The Taco Bell of Tomorrow

His dog nuzzled up against his face from beside his vibro-bed.

Knowing it wouldn't work, Prominence said, "Leave me alone, Pavlov."

He didn't need to observe the phenomenon to know that Pavlov was wagging his tail.

He wished he had one of those fancy-new canine submission flippyjicks. He could barely afford old-school Milk-bones.

Sighing, Prominence took his gogs off their charging hanger, placing them over his eyes, clipping them onto the electrodes behind his ears. His personal slut-butler snapped to attention, saying cheerfully...

{"Good morning, Kingly-doodle! Today is February 14, 2042. This used to be Valentine's Day until the billionaires controlling the calendar said, 'Fuck that shit.' It's a chilly day out there, 27 degrees, but it feels closer to 15. Thermal augmentation for your junk would be an excellent idea.}

{"The Top Story of the Day is the impending launch of Arrow-XV. This long-awaited adaptoid has been specially designed for a mission to explore Uranus, where it will investigate mysterious lifeforms discovered in a layer of water approximately 5,000 miles thick. Under pressure that exceeds 60,000 times that of Earth’s surface, liquid enters the state of a supercritical fluid on Uranus, changing its properties from a gas to—"}

"Yadda, yadda, " he said, and his gogs were programmed to stop talking.

Another voice said, "Incoming viz. Snag or ghost?"

Knowing it was his mom just by the peevish tone, he said, "Ghost."

Pavlov started licking his exposed left foot.

Focusing his eyes on the proper icon, he slow-blinked while saying, "Open dog door."

Excited, Pavlov bounded out of the bedroom. In the kitchen, the automated hound hatch opened to give his German shepherd access to the fenced-in backyard.

Sighing, Prominence stretched, a list of tabs flowing down the left side of his goggle screen(s).

[ [There were two screens, one for each eye, but they were perceived as one.] ]

All the news was about the upcoming Unificational Day. It was considered by every gov.official (but four) to be the next Great Leap in Human Development.

Prominence couldn't wait!

There was so much to be yamflammeled about!

1. He would be promoted.
2. He would get a shorter workweek.
3. Potentially, he would never have to leave his house again.
4. He'd get his own personalized fleshmesh zingerblim, complete with his own adaptable archetype.
5. He would be exempt from being drafted to serve in bitcoin battles on the moon.
6. Taco B(w)ellness specialists would regularly administer quesadilla protections for a host of ailments, even the Trumpian Plague.

And 7. every time he put on his brilliantware, he would be blended with all his fellow countrymen.

Technology was a zappingast! First there was primitive mail service (Ewwww! Paper! 🤢🤮.) After that came the telephone. A century later came mobile phones. Then smartphones. Then roaming Gate-goggles.

And now, finally, perfect neurolinks were on the immediate horizon!

For some reason, just the thought of that made him horny.

He used to lay the typical orgy porn on his eyes, but ever since the public nudity laws were passed, he preferred to turn on live cams at the sanctioned sex parks.

Just yesterday, across town at Shadyside Gardens, he saw the hottest naked couple with swirling, merging tattoos. They ended up fucking in a purple translucent treehouse.

Holo-art made every illusion possible.

Again, that annoying artificial voice butted into his flow. "Incoming call from—"

His mom again.

"Ghost!"

He had only had these new gogs for about three months. He received them after making a campaign pledge to the new (very old) President. With this model, there was supposedly a way to ignore someone for hours, but so far, he hadn't been able to figure out how to turn that feature on. These gogs were so cheaply made, they were an embarrassment to any self-respecting clog.

He couldn't stop thinking about work.

It was too weird, being excitimigated about work.

Taco Bell is Forever the Innovator!

On the same day that all paper currency would officially become obsolete, Prominence would receive an increase in jolts {electronic currency.} And like those in the upper-kinda-sorta-middle class, he'd finally start earning some xaps {zaps}!

A xap was goggle-delivered direct stimulation of the reward center of the brain. It could be administered in three different types of __lightning bolts⚡: as a stress-relieving mellow buzzz, as a sustained amplification of the sexx drive, or as increased social ccommuniccation skills.

Taco Bell promised still other types of baja xaps in its continuing quest to better understand the hippocampus.

"Incoming Call."

He was about to ghost his mom yet again... and then he was startled to realize why his A.I. was labeling it a 'call'.

It couldn't be!

"Snag viz," he commanded, his heart raging in his chest.

{<<⚡⚡⚡ZzzZZZ-pop!💥 >>⚡💥}

🤯🤯🤯🤪🥺

It was Pristine, the Great Love of His Life!

The day they broke up was the worst day of his life.

She looked more gorgiful than ever.

"It's you," he said.

"Duh," she said. "Who did you expect? Your mother?"

They both smiled.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, long enough for him to worry his hair was a mess. Then she said, "I've read about how Taco Bell will be the first fully-automated restaurant."

He poked her, "You're the only person on the planet who still reads."

Sourly, she said, "Believe it or not, some people actually still write."

"Uh-huh. Just like people still choose false teeth over bone regeneration."

She ignored that swipe at her grandmother, quoting a GV (gog-viz) slogan that was all the rave, "'Food Untouched by Human Hands'? Seriously, Prominence?"

"Yes-indeedydoodlyboppy!" He felt such (undeserved) pride. "It's going to be lymragginel! Peeps will send their grabs on their gogs. We'll use heated conveyor belts, mechanical scooping tentacles, and spray ingredients. We can slap down any order in roughly 33 seconds. Long before most people's flyboys arrive— viola! It all comes out ready for pickup!"

He told her the inside dope, "The only humans ever allowed in the place will be an unfortunate few hired for pest control."

"You're still using plastic containers, right?"

"Yeah. Word is that Taco Bell scientists are still working on the evaporating kind."

"How many years have they been promising that? Ten? Fifteen?"

"I just report the news. I don't make it."

"What about the basic crunchy tacos? Have they made the shells any thicker at all? Or are they still so soggy that they fall apart in your hands the moment you take them out of the wrapper?"

"No comment."

"What exactly will you be doing?"

"I oversee burritos and burritifitos. That's it! As long as everything runs smoothly and there aren't a lot of special orders, I'll basically be doing nothing."

"You'll be bored, in other words."

He didn't concede that. He hated it when Pristine was right.

"Your focus will be locked in," she went on. "You'll never be able to direct your attention elsewhere. No playing your supergrip games. No FlimFlam. No audioZAMics. No Morning Erase. None of the daydreaming you constantly do now. It won't be allowed. You'll have to concentrate on one thing and one thing only: work."

Taco Bell's training department made it seem way more appealing than she did.

And, as usual, she didn't know when to stop. "Did you even read your Unificational Employee Agreement?"

"Are you jiggerwits? That thing was something like twenty-eight pages long!"

"So, you just hit 'CONTINUE' twenty-seven times and signed it?"

"Basically."

"You signed your life away and didn't even read the fine print."

What the hell is 'fine print'?

It annoyed him when she spoke in scramble.

He insisted, "I did not sign my life away!"

"You're right." She rolled her eyes. "You just signed your brainwaves away."

"You're always so overdramatic!"

She wouldn't give up. "You remember when Madam President tried to legislate a mandatory Mediterranean diet that would save lives? That was what cost her a second term!"

He dove right back into politics like no time had passed. "Don't get me started on that woman! If I want to risk heart disease because of my love for saturated fat, that's none of Mz Gov's business!"

"And yet," she said, "you're perfectly okay with the autocracy having access to people's personal, private thoughts!"

Truthfully, he just wanted to get paid more for working less.

Defensive, he recited the tried-and-true rhetoric, "We put too much emphasis on independence in this country, instead of interdependence."

Shaking her head, Pristine wore an expression of pity.

He squealed, "Don't give me that look! We need to abandon polarity consciousness for a more unified allegiance!"

"I agree! But we can retain our individuality and still achieve harmony. 'Oddities' empower! Our differences make us collectively stronger! Different points of view offer different solutions. We balance each other out.

"But unification can't be forced!"

"Yadda, yadda," he said, but unlike his slut-butler, she had no programming to quell her tongue.

"Prominence, have you ever even listened to 音乐 - yīnyuè in your life?"

"Are you kookling me? That buntzuck zebra shit?"

"Believe it or not, some people think American/Chinese warbling is the greatest music ever. They'll be humming it in their heads as you deal with them. And you'll be obligated to interact with them. Are you prepared for that?"

I'm not prepared for that at all!

She kept ranting, "You won't like it. Wait and see. And once America goes OnWave, the problems will start with just a few small glitches, but eventually there will be complete collapse. A meltdown of people's minds."

"I thought you were an optimist!"

"I was..." She scowled, "... until that asshole's idiotic trade wars."

He was so tired of this. She wasn't going to change his mind, and he wasn't going to change hers.

He told her, "We've talked about this a gazillion times."

"Actually, only forty-three billion." It was an old joke of hers.

He became dreamy. "I miss lying in bed with you, watching our favorite interacts on our gogs."

"I miss synthesizing our favorite ditties together so we could dance on the ceiling."

He snickered. "I remember that time the adhesion zone faltered, and we fell head-over-heels."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about! All technology breaks down, especially the new chrome that's barely been tested." She looked like she could cry. "Honey, you're going to be one of countless guinea pigs when America goes OnWave."

Hearing her call him 'honey' sent electricity through his soul.

Emotional, he needed to know, "Why did you viz me?"

"I want you to come with me."

"What!?!" He couldn't trust the transmission. "Where? Sweden?!?"

"Yes."

He broke out in a sweat.

Her voice was a whisper. "I have another ticket for you."

I can't.

"I don't know, Tina. With all that's going on with—"

"Perceus is coming too."

"Seriously?!?" He was immediately aroused.

"Yes. Polygamy isn't illicit over there. They still even allow people to get married in Europe. We can be a throuple."

That sounded naughty, rebellious, empowering. But Prominence couldn't imagine not Forever Being an American.

His mother would throw a horizontal fit.

Pristine just looked at him.

He broke eye contact. "I can't."

"I knew you wouldn't go for it, but I had to try."

"If I had a better—"

<<BEEP! BEEP!! BEEP!!!>>

"ALERT! ALERT! PAVLOV NEEDS YOUR HELP!"

Reacting instinctively, Prominence bounded off his vibrations to begin the search for his shoes. He looked under the bed, under the dresser, in his closet, in the extra bedroom. "DAMMIT!"

He was perpetually misplacing everything.

The 88-caliber Brazilian weed didn't help.

That was yet another reason to be excited about the future! With Data Unification=4-All, the storage for his personal gogs would (supposedly) be increased ten times! Every single moment of every 24-hrs would be on file for up to fifteen days. He'd never have frantic moments like this one where he couldn't find his fucking—!!!

His shoes were under the old-fashioned pillow he threw down for Pavlov's bed.

Prominence had had no cause to be in his backyard in ages. In the green time, a robot cut his grass. In the white time, he had underyard heating pads.

Disintemigratamitors dealt with the dog poop.

In every season, Pavlov was trained to come back inside when his bell rang.

Prominence liked the idea of going out back about as much as he liked being forced into a 'voting' booth every four years for an already-predetermined outcome.

He donned his coonskin coat and faced the ordeal anyway.

As he left the house, he realized he'd lost his connection to Pristine.

It took him a couple minutes to disengage the German Shepherd's collar. Pavlov was probably chasing a squirrel when he was caught.

It had happened before.

He told his salivating dog, "She was the one who named you, you know? I know nothing about psychology."

He'd been in denial for far too long about the ancient aluminum fence marking the boundary of his property. He needed to have a beamer-hedge installed, like all his nosey neighbors.

That irritated him.

The price of force field technology is ridiculous! At those costs, you'd think I was trying to buy a dome on Mars!

And he hadn't gotten his Taco Bell raise yet!

He found himself seriously thinking about going overseas, not to visit, but to live permanently with Pristine and Perceus.

By the time he made it back inside, he was cold.

All his thermal padding for his junk had shriveled.

Life was entirely too challenging for those in the upper-kinda-sorta-middle class.

Billionaires have all the fun.

In his kitchen, as he made coffee, he asked Pavlov, "How would you feel about moving halfway around the world, buddy?"

His German Shepherd just looked at him with unconditional love.

⚡

*This Vision of a flawed Tomorrow, Served up with Mild, Hot, Fire, Diablo, and Utopian Sauces, has been brought to you by

_______________ Bolt ⚡