I’ve spent years writing about the intersection of technology, culture, and policy. When social media is increasingly used to create events, rather than report on them, I find that work increasingly relevant.
It is one thing to write an essay here or a newsletter there. Given the potential harms, utilizing adding additional forms, like narrative, seems warranted. General American is a seven-part short story about a fast foot crew suddenly confronted with a corporate AI that threatens their erasure.
A new installment will be published daily. Additional info, like the accompanying playlist, can be found at the Stories page.
~Matthew
Scene 1 - SpudBud to the Rescue
Fifteen minutes before opening, Frylies rehearsed normal.
Joel read the checklist from memory, rather than his clipboard.
“Stations prepped?”
Rosa shifted onto one hip and popped an exaggerated thumbs-up from beneath folded arms.
“Walk-in holding temp?”
Jamal leaned against the counter top.
“Steady as she goes.”
“Bathrooms?”
Mateo coughed to clear his throat, then said, “We good.”
Joel tapped the clipboard against his knuckles.
“Mrs. Alvarez, did you have a chance to walk the front of house?”
“Sí,” Mrs. Alvarez said, franchise black visor with swirly, butter-cream embroidered lettering dangling clasped hands.
“Good, good. Well then, guys, there’s just one more thing before we open.”
Joel laid down his clipboard and opened the box that had been sitting on the counter. He theatrically blew on his fingers and pulled the headset from inside. He held it up so the assembled team could see it better.
It definitely was new - the plastic film hadn’t even been peeled from the AR glasses portion.
“We’ve heard it was coming for a while. But today is the day! Frylies is rolling out SpudBud AI nationally.”
“So it’s real now?” Rosa said, “No more excuses?”
“Yep,” Joel rotated to give others a better look, moving gingerly as if he were holding a cup filled to the brim. “I know training was months ago. I’ve been told they’ve applied a lot of the UI feedback since then. They say it is super-intuitive now.”
An anxious and excited twitter sizzled through the crowd.
Jamal raised his hand.
“Yes, Jamal?”
“What is Spud… spud-,” he struggled to recall the name.
“It’s SpudBud, our new AI coach.” Joel carefully reseated the headset in the box and glanced upward at the ceiling. “When did field support swing by? Maybe seven months-“
“Eight,” Mrs. Alvarez corrected.
“Eight,” Joel snapped his fingers and pointed at the senior member of the group. “Well, there you go. Corporate was here eight months ago. But, you didn’t miss much, though, Jamal. It was barely more than a couple of slide decks at the time.”
“But it will do the voice smoothing, like they said?” Rosa asked.
“Yepper. It’ll convert whatever you say into ‘General American’.”
By his expression, the explanation only made Jamal more confused.
“General-what-now?”
“It’s a linguistic thing, or something,” Joel offered, unhelpfully.
“It makes us all sound white and from the ‘burbs, over the speaker,” Mateo said. He pinched his nose and made his voice high and nasally, “I want to talk to your manager!”
“All right,” Joel said, cutting Mateo off before he could go on, “Let’s not get ourselves written up before we open.”
He picked up the headset again and handed it to Jamal.
“Here-“ he handed the headset to Jamal. “You shouldn’t have to know how to use it; it should tell you. You put that on, and I’ll turn it on from my office.
“I’ll be right back.”
Jamal turned the device over in his hands. It definitely had more heft than the version he was used to. That was probably why the supporting straps seemed more substantial.
Mateo leaned in. “You think you can run Doom on that?”
“Dorks,” Rosa said, playfully. Despite the criticism, Rosa seemed equally drawn to the new, shiny plastic.
“Takes one to know one, mamacita,” Mateo said.
He punched Jamal on the shoulder.
“Come on, man. Let’s get some ASMR going, already.”
Jamal frowned, trying to pick at the edge of the protective film over the glass. The third try was the charm. He peeled the plastic back with a satisfying squelch and then widened the strap, making sure it fit over his visor. He clipped the battery pack to his pants and adjusted the microphone that extended over his left ear.
He looked around. From the back prep sinks to the brushed-metal soda towers beyond the front counter, Frylies looked the same as it had before. Remodeled a few years before, it was all clean, Scandinavian lines with modern black panels, vinyl wood accents, and clean lettering, aspiring for something more upscale. Red LED stripes ringed the ceiling, mimicking neon. The tile counters gleamed under red pendent lights. The variously sized logos, with their buttery-yellow, crinkle-cut fries and red swirly lettering, glowed in witness.
The shake machine’s compressor kicked on, rumbling loudly.
As if cued, red text began to flow in the upper corner of his vision. It seemed to be a series of startup diagnostics.
The headset buzzed, and then a cartoon voice was in Jamal’s ear.
“Hi there, Jamal, employee two-two-one! I’m SpudBud, your friendly performance partner, ready to optimize your best voice!”
“Whoa.”
“What’s happening?” Rosa asked.
Joel re-emerged from the back.
“Okay, we should be up and running. Are you seeing it?”
Jamal nodded.
“Great! Okay. Pretend a car has just pulled up. Push the mic button and just talk. You and the customer at the drive-thru will hear the corrected version. You should also see it in the display.”
“Just talk like normal?”
“Go ahead.”
Jamal looked around the group, suddenly very self-conscious. He licked his lips and then pressed the button.
“Um, welcome to Frylies,” Jamal said haltingly, sounding extremely self-conscious as everyone watched him, “Where every day is Fry-day? What can I get you?”
Again, there was a sudden buzz at the back of his head. In his glasses, an ellipsis flashed several times, and text appeared.
”[[WARNING: Non-sanctioned greeting. Correcting. Energy and confidence levels boosted 20%.]] Welcome to Frylies. May I take your order?”
Rosa was impatient. “What did it say?”
Jamal took off the headset and looked at the spot along the elastic band that had vibrated.
“Something about a ‘non-sanctioned’ greeting? And what it said to the customer was completely different than what I said. Is it always going to do that?”
“That’s the point,” Joel said quickly, “It keeps everything consistent. For the customers.”
Joel retrieved his clipboard and flipped some pages.
“Here’s what’s in the press release:”
"SpudBud™ is Frylies next-generation drive-through enhancement platform, designed to ensure every guest interaction reflects our commitment to customer clarity, consistency, and comfort. At Frylies, we believe 'fast, food, and fun' should sound the same - no matter who's listening. The advanced AI agent works seamlessly in the background, preserving your authentic customer interactions while ensuring they meet Frylies brand-forward conversational expectations. By leveraging adaptive tone-balancing and-"
“-Blah, blah, blah. It goes on like that for a ways. Anyway-,” Joel flipped to the next page. “There’s some internal notes about ‘guest ease indexing’ and calibration, but that’s mostly metrics.”
He tapped his clipboard.
“Any questions?”
Jamal shot Mateo a look. Mateo just shrugged.
Mrs. Alvarez’s thumbs kneaded the strap on her visor as if she were praying a synthetic fiber rosary. She silently studied Jamal as she did so.
