What's the Hurry?

Cassie stood motionless, staring at the shelf displaying disposable plates and flatware.

Hurry.

She sighed. So many options. Why did there always have to be so many options? Too many things to consider: price, durability, biodegradability, aesthetic. Why had she volunteered to bring the plates and cutlery? She shook her head. She knew why. She’d always thought by the time she’d reached the ripe age of half a century that she’d activate some latent cooking or baking skill. She hadn’t.

Hurry.

She frantically grabbed at some oval plates with a green colored label. Then she plucked a few boxes of forks and spoons off the shelf. When she reached the self-checkout she moved as fast as she could to get the items scanned and in her bag. But she went too fast. The screen froze and a red light flashed above her. Her flurried movements had triggered the anti-theft scanner. The young attendant was scrolling on his phone and didn’t appear to take any notice of the alert.

Hurry.

“Excuse me,” Cassie called, trying to keep her tone unfrazzled.

The attendant looked up. There was something familiar about his face. He walked over to her station and squinted at her. “Mrs. Palmer?”

Decade old memories of a boy laughing at his desk and adjusting his glasses while reading popped into Cassie’s head. Her eyes widened in recognition. “Josh! How are you?”

“Not too bad,” Josh replied. “Graduated from college last year. Working here while I try to figure out what’s next.”

Cassie smiled, “That’s good to hear. How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing okay,” Josh said with a shrug as he scanned his employee code to turn the alert system off. “Better than she was back when I was in middle school. Losing Carter was hard on both of us, but I had more of life to look forward to. She’s never really moved on.”

Cassie nodded as she paid. “Tragedy like that has a tendency to take up permanent residence. But I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay, Josh. You’ll have to keep me posted on your future plans when I see you here again.”

“Will do, Mrs. Palmer, have a good evening,” he said.

“You too, Josh,” Cassie said as she collected her purchases. When she reached the exit doors she glanced back at Josh and a memory of his older brother, Carter, came to mind: a gangly kid wiggling in his seat and asking what time it was yet again, so eager to throw his books in his backpack and get to basketball practice. He’d been a good player, but he got injured pretty badly in high school and couldn’t play anymore. Depressed and bored, he’d been an easy target for drug pushers. Back in the day they used to be discreet, but nowadays they were dauntless. And overdoses in young kids like Carter and people of all ages were still on a steady rise.

Hurry.

Cassie paused outside the grocery store doors and clenched the pepper spray attached to her keychain. Her husband would not be pleased to know she’d stopped at this store after dark. This parking lot had been the scene of more than one attack carried out by groups of youths recording viral videos for 4Reel.

Hard to believe but Cassie missed the days when teens just destroyed school bathrooms for their TikToks. Every generation seemed to have its own new platform. From the MySpace and Facebook era things had devolved to 4Reel, where violent or explicit content could make you an internet sensation.

Hurry.

She made it to her electric sedan and locked the doors as soon as she was inside. Waiting at the stoplight to turn onto the highway she glanced to her right. A family of passengers were all staring at their phones, all except the youngest. The toddler raised a hand and waved. Cassie smiled and waved back.

Then the light turned green and the family’s self-driving car zipped forward. The car behind Cassie honked and she stepped on the accelerator pedal.

Hurry.

As she merged onto the highway she had to tell herself not to get distracted by checking if the cars around her were self-driving. They were all over the roads, but too expensive for someone living off a retired teacher’s salary. And even if they were cheaper Cassie couldn’t see herself wanting one. Younger people talked about how much work you could get done in the car and how much time it saved, but Cassie suspected it just allowed people to spend more time in a scroll hole.

To Cassie it seemed as though so much was being automated these days. A lot of tasks could be done faster and better by machines, but now there was a problem emerging: What would be left for people to do? More and more society was experiencing the consequences of taking away opportunities for human productivity. Like Carter, there were a lot of people who were depressed and bored. So they escaped into their phones or through the newest drug on the market. She prayed her former students like Josh would be able to stay above water.

After she’d gotten off at her exit she took the familiar route to the art museum. There were about a dozen cars in the parking lot. Everyone else had probably arrived. But they couldn’t eat without her since she had the plates!

Hurry.

She grabbed the bag from the store and an accordion folder from the backseat. Then she made her way to the museum entrance. She hit the call button and waved at the camera lens.

The door buzzed and she flung it open. Glancing back, she made sure it swung shut behind her. As she made her way past shadowy exhibit rooms she thought how fitting it was that they met in a museum. They were relics from a different time after all.

When she reached the conference room there were cheers of excitement, for the arrival of the plates of course.

“Finally! I’m starved!” exclaimed Brad Stevens. He patted his plump stomach and laughed.

Madison Peretti, the leader of their group and a curator at the museum, took the bag from Cassie’s hand and set out the items on a table littered with crockpots and casserole dishes. “Alright everyone, eat up!” she called out. “Let’s celebrate our final meeting of 2050 with this wonderful meal and then we’ll get down to business!”

Cassie stationed herself as the caboose of the line and when it was her turn she filled up a mediocre quality plate with an abundance of good food. Everyone took their seats. Brad was the center of attention with some new story of a golfing blunder. Then Shelia Maguire passed around her phone with photos of her new granddaughter.

Cassie laughed and aahed, content as always to be a part of the background. It was nice to slow down when it seemed the world was bent on spinning faster and faster. Stepping out the door meant getting caught up in the relentless rushing. But here the present moment was front and center for everyone. Five years ago she didn't even know these people and now they were like family. United by a seed of shared passion and tethered together by the friendships they had fostered.

Once everyone was done eating, Madison declared, “I think it’s time we get started.”

Cassie grabbed her accordion folder and took out copies of her latest short story while the others fetched their own stacks of paper from briefcases or backpacks.

The “take one pass it around” process commenced and by the end everyone had a stack of poetry and fiction in front of them.

Cassie remembered how exciting it had been when they’d formed the workshop group. It reminded her of her college seminars and the days of online writer groups before the AI infiltrators overwhelmed the web.

They were blessed, this small group of writers gathered around the table as well as artists everywhere. Because the works of their hands, minds, and hearts could not be replicated by machines no matter how hard as the users of those machines might try. And there was no threat of boredom with the power to weave stories at one’s fingertips.

“Cassie, how about you kick things off?” Madison asked.

“Sure thing,” Cassie replied as she retrieved her story from the collection of pages.

Breathe.

Begin.