The town of Needles, California was surprisingly active for an antique desert outpost. In fact, the streets were teeming with cyborgs. Jones watched as they crossed the streets in their customary black technical fabrics, hauling around their exoskeletons, and chatting with one another in small groups under the awnings of rotting gas stations. He put his head in his hands.
“Can I give you some advice?” Marvin asked. Jones groaned. “You should work on your sense of perspective. You know how many people would kill to have a job like ours? In an economy like this? I’m referring to literal murder. The number is not zero. Last week, the State of Montana announced new job openings and four people died.”
“Thank you for that perspective,” Jones mumbled. “Mad Crab just makes me nervous.”
“Why’s that?” asked Marvin. “Because they have sense organs made of something other than water and protein? Because they have superior locomotion?”
“It’s not because they’re cyborgs,” insisted Jones. “It’s because they all know and like my ex-wife!”
"And then you get hooked, and you think, 'I could be good at math.' And then you realize you've been wasting your time, your brain time wastes building new math problems. And the cycle begins all over again."
“What?” Jones asked, confused.
“I’m sorry,” Marvin apologized. “There’s a lot of signal interference here. Needles is swamped with bluetooth.”
They arrived at the entrance of the motel. A buzzing neon sign declared: “TARLITE INN.”
“If you don’t mind,” said Marvin, “I’m going to take a day or two off. We’re not far from the Grand Canyon, and I’ve never been.”
Wearily, Jones nodded his head. “I hope you have a wonderful time.”
Jones walked up to the lobby and looked for the registration desk. Entering his identification details into the kiosk in the small, sandy lobby, he was rewarded with a keycard to room 401, overlooking the dumpsters.
When Jones walked into his room, the TV was on. He looked around for the remote. It wasn’t on the table, or under the bed. He ran his hands around the edges of the TV, and pressed the power button. Nothing happened. Onscreen, a jubilant woman declared her love for strawberry jam. Jones picked up the phone on the side table to call the front desk, and immediately found himself on hold.
Ten minutes later, a concierge picked up. Jones could clearly hear the rumble and babble of a distant call center in the background.
“Hello, Mr. Jones,” the concierge said. “Room 401 at the Starlite Inn, is that right? How may I help you today?”
“I can’t get the TV in my room to turn off,” said Jones.
“Mmmm,” the concierge said, “Let me check your reservation. Sir, you requested the discount rate.”
Jones cursed Agent Moss silently. “It’s playing the same commercial about jelly in a loop.”
“Yes sir, you requested the discount rate. The discount rate comes with commercials.”
“What about when I want to sleep?”
“Quiet hours are from 11pm to 7am, sir. The laundry is open 6am until midnight, and the pool from noon to eight pm.”
“What if I want to sleep in past 7?”
“Yes sir, you requested the discount rate. I can upgrade you to the deluxe plan for $49.95 a night, if you like.”
“I don’t like jelly!”
“You will sir, you will.” The concierge’s voice was soothing, but Jones could tell that they were eager to get to the next call. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
Jones hung up the phone. The television showed a spoon digging into a jar of jam, carving out a heaping globule of the red, jiggling mass. He pulled the bedspread off the mattress and draped it several times over the TV.
The phone rang.
“Hello, sir, this is the concierge. I wanted to call you and thank you for your patronage at the Starlite Inn.” It was a different person.
“No problem,” said Jones.
“We did notice, sir, that you are tampering with the in-room broadcast equipment. This is against the terms and conditions.”
“Do you have cameras in here?”
“Sir, I understand that not all of our guests enjoy watching television. If you like, I can upgrade you to our deluxe package for $49.95 a night. You’ll enjoy full control of environmental settings in the room.”
“I’ll go to another motel.”
“Of course sir, let me check our other properties.” There was a pause. “In Needles, sir, every motel has the same package structure.”
“Not one of your motels, someone else’s!”
“Ah, of course sir, but not in Needles. I’m afraid we are the only hospitality provider. Are you sure you’d like to check out, sir?”
Jones thought for a moment about sleeping in the desert. He thought about the open sky, brilliant with stars. He thought about scorpions.
“How much just to get the TV turned off?”
“That would be an additional $14.95.”
“How much to get the cameras turned off?”
“That is part of our deluxe package, sir. The deluxe package will allow you to optimize the air conditioning and the lighting to your personal comfort, and includes unlimited toilet flushes.”
Jones decided that the Federal government owed him as many toilet flushes as he wanted. “Go ahead,” he said. “Give me the upgrade.” Moments later, the TV screen went dark. Jones wrapped himself in the blanket and allowed himself to sink into blissful sleep.