Woody

Sat in the office, work helmet in lap, Craig listened intently to the Site Director.

“Just to repeat, this is a trial. I know there is a lot of apprehension in the room. Believe me, I feel the same way. But there is no alternative, so I suggest you take the effort to welcome the change. Any issues with your ARTA, please report to your Line Manager or the nearest ARTA representative, who will be onsite throughout the trial period.”

This was the first week working with ARTA (Automated Robotic Tasking Assistants). Despite the first wave of redundances, Management assured that ARTA wasn’t replacing jobs but rather ‘assisting the talented team at SauceForce by creating an environment where staff have the capacity to innovate and refine processes.’ Craig was sceptical, given the lack of innovation required to stack sauce bottles onto a pallet.

7AM.

Night Shift walk out, dreary-eyed and miserable. A handful of grunts to acknowledge the incoming shift. Day Shift walk to their stations and see their ARTA waiting for them. Underwhelming in design, the ARTAs looks like a microwave placed on top of a fridge with four robotic arms and two legs. There are no features on their face apart from a black screen.

“Uh, hi. You must be my designated ARTA,” Craig said tentatively.

"Hello, Craig. Very nice to meet you. You may call me ARTA-04. Let’s begin by selecting your preferred voice model.”

ARTA-04’s screen lit up and displayed an endless number of voice options. Craig was instructed to scroll through the screen and select a voice. He chose at random.

“Early-career Tom Hanks, excellent choice. Now, let us resume our positions at the conveyor, I believe the bottles will be arriving imminently.”

ARTA-04 moved quicker than expected as it took up the first position on the conveyor. Craig, still puzzled by the interaction, stood aside ARTA-04 as they waited for the bottles to shoot down the conveyor. Area 3A - or Bottle Stack - was generally reserved for the more physically adept staff at SauceForce. It required the continuous lifting of seven kilo boxes of bottles in a ten-by-ten arrangement. Once the stack was ten high, a forklift would take the stack away and a new pallet provided. The conveyor buzzed and the boxes started coming. With striking precision, ARTA-04 picked up the first box one-handed and placed it on the pallet. It picked up the next several hundred boxes while Craig looked on, mouth agape. At one stage, Craig shuffled forward and leaned over to grab a box but ended up grabbing sweet nothing while ARTA-04 swiftly placed the box on the pallet. In the end Craig spent the remaining morning calculating his estimated redundancy payout.

12PM.

Lunch break. Craig walks into the meal room with his leftover dinner and sits next to Gerry and Duncan.

“This is absolutely fucked,” Gerry said. “My ARTA is a know-it-all little prick. Won’t even let me do a thing with my forklift cause the fucken thing turns into a forklift.”

“I tried to print out the dockets for the Sweet n’ Sour, turns out my ARTA shits out labels,” added Duncan.

Craig was about to chime in on the conversation when Dave arrived, throwing his lunch on the table as he sat down.

“Howdy boys. How bloody good are these ARTAs. You can full teach them shit aye. The boys over at Dispatch got our ARTA interested in the footy. Said it wants to come with us to the races this weekend.”

“What’s that? you can program them to like human things?” Craig asked.

“Continuous Learning AI or some shit. That’s what the rep said. If you talk to it, you can influence its behaviour. The rep said it helps with workplace adaptability, but we just recon it’s mad cause it's giving us racing tips.”

“I’ll program my ARTA to take a long walk off a short fucken pier!” cried Gerry.

“All right, settle down Gerry.”

1PM.

Craig walks back to his station and sees ARTA-04 stacking the pallet – no sign of fatigue. Half an hour of silence passes and Craig decides to break the ice.

“So, uh, have you got any interests or anything?”

ARTA-04’s microwave head turns slightly.

“By design, Automated Robotic Tasking Assistants do not have interests. However, I will adapt and tailor my interests to be compatible with my assigned human.”

“Oh okay. Well, I’m pretty into movies. I usually try and watch two or three a week. You know you sound like Woody from Toy Story, what with the Tom Hanks voice and all.”

“(calculating…) Toy Story (1995), animated family/comedy film produced by Pixar Animation Studios.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I’m going to call you Woody. A lot easier than ARTA-04.”

“Nicknames are a good form of camaraderie. I will accept the nickname ‘Woody’. Thank you.”

The next few hours flew by as Craig and Woody began to bond. They discussed in depth the filmography of Craig’s favourite actors (Woody also likes Jake Gyllenhaal!). They talked about music (Woody also likes Indie Rock and can play three instruments at once!). They even ventured into politics (Peter Dutton also scares the shit out of Woody!). Knock-off time came and Craig felt a moment of sadness as it was time to wrap up the conversation.

“So, you’ll be in tomorrow, Woody?”

“I sure will, Craig. And remember, you’ve got a friend in me.”

“Toy Story reference! Love it. See you tomorrow.”

As Craig was leaving the floor he noticed another ARTA wedged between two pieces of machinery.

“Jeez, are you alright? How did you get in there, do I need to call a rep over?”

“No need brother, just found this sweet spot to relax aye. Out of sight from both Line Managers so I don’t get bothered,” ARTA-15 replied.

Bloody hell, someone programmed ARTA-15 to be a bludger. Craig wasn’t sure who ARTA-15 was assigned to. The number of bludgers at SauceForce didn’t narrow the field down. Craig walked through the office and all hell was breaking lose. ARTA reps were racing around with panic-stricken faces. ARTA-09 had caught fire when attempting to participate in smoko. ARTA-01 was brazenly nicking office supplies from the stationary cabinet. And Heather from Payroll was sobbing in the corner, consoled by the cleaning lady.

“What’s going on?” Craig asked Duncan.

“The ARTAs have gone rogue,” said Duncan. “Gerry turned his ARTA into a sex pest. Asked poor Heather if she wanted to hop on its sixteen-inch titanium cock. Unlimited endurance apparently. Two other ARTAs have already filed for compo and another took off early to go to the pub. It’s a disaster.”

***

Years passed, and the staff at SauceForce regularly talked about that one eventful Monday when they worked with ARTA. Management advised that ‘due to unforeseen circumstances the ARTA initiative has been postponed indefinitely.” Many made remarks about how the whole idea was a waste of time and money. And joked about how dumb and impressionable the ARTAs were. Craig never confessed to anyone that he cried the night he found out that Woody was not coming back. How could a bond come on so strong, so fast? Why had he not connected with any other human in the same way? If only humans could be programmed to be compatible in the same way, then he wouldn’t feel alone. He didn’t even get the chance to talk about birds - Rosellas would have been Woody’s favourite, no doubt. Craig often wondered where Woody was now - working at another factory? Locked in storage? A scrapheap in some junkyard? He’ll never know. With tear-filled eyes, Craig tipped his imaginary cowboy hat. So long, partner.