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| The End by The Doors |
No more Connie from scheduling with her smirk and knowing smile and shit assignments just for you. No more Dave and Justin talking about sports and beer and babes and asking why you don't go in for all of that. No more Mr. Willis judging you. No more feeling uncomfortable around Janine, the receptionist. No more people.
After forgetting to turn off his alarm, Gerald lay in bed and worked through what was the minimum human interaction he would need to handle. He lived in an apartment and paid his rent on line. Maintenance requests were also be handled on line, should he need one. All he'd need to do is nod at the nice manager every time he left and walked past her office. He did not plan on leaving often. So, nodding a couple of times a week. Maybe.
Power and gas and water and phone and internet were also handled through emails and webpages and there were no offices to walk past, so no interaction at all there. Perfect. Even customer service for all of those was handled through on line chat, so what little human interaction might be required is faceless, toneless.
Shopping was an issue. He could get almost everything from the internet without talking to anyone, even in a chat window. Amazon even made it a focus of their user experience: they wanted to anticipate his needs so he is never unsatisfied enough to reach out to them. But there was one thing that he can't order on line: food. Certainly, there were pizza and other take-out/delivery that he could order on-line, but then he would have to deal with whomever delivers it. Also, take-out seven days a week was not going to do him any favors, to his health or his wallet.
There was no question that he could stand to eat less, but less was not none. He would need to go out and get something to fill the fridge and from there his stomach. He would need to deal with cashiers. But really, is that so bad? They all saw hundreds of people a day. He would be in an out of their consciousness as fast as he could swipe his ATM card.
Ah, but the ATM card. On the surface it appeared to help his cause, but beneath that plastic lay a cesspool. The problem was not with his bank: everything he ever needed to do could be handled through their secure page. It was the numbers on that page. The amount they say he had in his account. When that ran out, then all of the other things ran out with it. Rent, power, gas, water, cellphone, internet and food. All gone. And the only way he had to refill it was to work.
Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Gerald frowned. He had to earn money so that he can afford to keep people away, but most jobs require some level of human interaction. At the very least, there was the initial interview: an uncomfortable form of interaction that was only topped by the first date.
Gerald's frown deepened as he tried to think of jobs that have the least amount of human interaction. He's tried coding, both corporate and freelance, but that had always had an end customer who wanted to provide input and expectations. That's out. Remote location maintenance seemed promising, maybe an Alaskan radar installation or desert power lines. Still, probably military or some other certification would be needed and that would require classes which would be too much humanity. Gerald wanted to be shut in. Shut out. Isolated. Solitary.
Solitary was the answer. Gerald went on line, checked his account balance and then headed for a sporting goods site. A few reviews later and he had ordered what he needed. Then it was off to the university campus for one last big human interaction. There would be more: lawyers and press and psychologists and police. But he would not need to interact with any of them. In fact, he reasoned, the less he interacted, the more likely he is to get what he wanted.
In the end, Gerald was sentenced to death for shooting twenty-three people, six of whom died. Yet, with the mandatory appeals process, he spent sixteen years in prison before his execution. In isolation. In solitary confinement.
In the end, it was heaven.
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