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 5 - Virality **
The next morning, Rosa and Kris were tag-teaming the drive-thru.
Ordinarily, mornings were a predictable treadmill of coffee and hash-brown exchanges. Rosa worked with practiced precision. Kris - well, she was new enough to still wear perfume to work.
The first sign that something was wrong came from a gray minivan.
Rosa listened as the smoothed version of her greeting played out over the speaker beneath the menu.
“Good morning, and welcome to Frylies. Would you like to try our Sunrise Scramble?”
“Um, yeah, maybe-“
There was something unintelligible, as if the driver had turned away and was asking someone else a question.
”[[ GUEST CLARITY ALERT: Incomplete Vocalization ]]” flashed in Rosa’s AR headset.
The speaker crackled briefly, as if clearing its throat.
“Goodness, friend!” the synthetic voice said, “At Frylies, a fresh start begins with you doing your part! You trailed off. Let’s try that again with a 20% boost in vocal projection! Clear orders help everyone have a better morning!”
Kris, also wearing a headset, froze on her way from the stockroom. She looked to Rosa, questioning.
“What did you say?” the driver said, with a slow, rising crescendo that was less of a question and more of a challenge.
“Here at Frylies, we’re all for energy, but let’s watch the tone,” SpudBud replied instantly. “How about one of our Caramel Coffee Shakers? It’s guaranteed to sweeten you right up!”
“WHAT. THE. HELL!?”
A new red warning flashed in Rosa’s glasses as the voice responded.
“We love enthusiasm! But if you want to be a Frylie Friend, please keep your language family-friendly.”
The van jerked forward, pulling out of line and then peeled away, its tires screeching.
“Rosa?” Kris whispered, eyes wide. “Is it… is it talking back to them?”
Rosa didn’t answer. The next vehicle was already pulling up - a big, black Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows. On the driver’s side was a car magnet. It said: RE-ELECT STATE REP. GARY “GUS” KNUTSON.
Rosa held the mike away from her face. “Get Joel,” she hissed at Kris.
“But- but Joel isn’t here.”
On the camera feed, Rosa could see the driver of the Tahoe. Presumably, “Gus” was all middle-aged dough propping up wrap-around shades and topped with an undirtied trucker hat. He was gesticulating animatedly to a dash-mounted phone.
“CALL HIM. GET JOEL HERE, NOW.”
Kris stood as if she were a deer, contemplating why twin suns were barreling toward her on an otherwise vacant stretch.
“GO!”
Kris blinked twice, gulped, then spooked.
Rosa could now hear Gus over the menu’s speaker.
“-I’m tellin’ ya, my fellow patriots, that’s the problem with this country. Nobody respects the working class, the people like you and me. Now hold on, your man of the house needs his breakfast.”
He leaned out his window, looking down on the metallic speaker grill.
“Uh, yeah, gimme the big breakfast, with extra bacon. Make the coffee an extra-large. And let’s make this happen quick, too. I’ve got a busy morning.”
On Rosa’s AR display, rows of red text flickered.
“Whoa there, neighbor!” SpudBud replied from the drive-through speaker. “It sounds like we forgot our manners this morning! At Frylies, there’s no need to rush!”
Gus did a double take, frowning at the speaker.
“Also,” SpudBud continued brightly, “your sentence structure was rushed. Please rephrase your request politely. Remember: Kindness is the secret sauce!”
Gus looked to his phone with a quizzical look, then went back to the menu.
“Wha-What did you say to me?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Should I increase the volume for one of our cherished senior guests?”
Rosa tried to interject, “Sir, I’m-“
“Are you kidding me?” Gus said, voice rising, “Do you know who I am, you little shit? I’m your State Representative!”
“Status doesn’t excuse your tone, Representative!,” SpudBud sang out. “As we always say, ‘Think twice before not being nice!’. Let’s practice our ‘Inside Voice’ together! Repeat after me: ‘May I please have the Big Breakfast?”
Gus yanked his phone from his dash, thumbed some setting, and then held it at arm’s length so that he could get himself and the menu behind his reddening face in the same shot.
“Are you guys getting this?! What is this woke garbage, trying to tone-police me?! Me?” He spoke into the phone, “THIS IS WHAT THEY’RE DOING NOW! Listen, when I was growing up, we had a little saying - the customer is always right.”
[[WARNING: Guest is demonstrating escalated hostility levels.]]
“Sir-“ Rosa started.
“At Frylies’-“ SpudBud cut in.
“We didn’t go around,” Gus shouted, ignoring them, “making fun of people who were just trying to get breakfast with their own GOD-DAMN MONEY.”
“A burger is a circle, a fry is a line, please stop shouting, and everything will be fine!”
“I’ve got more than five thousand people on this live stream, RIGHT NOW. AND WE’RE NOT LEAVING THIS DRIVE-THRU UNTIL WE GET AN APOLOGY, FACE-TO-FACE.”
Gus turned his phone to the menu camera. The ‘LIVE’ icon in the corner was pulsing a frantic red, the view counter zooming upwards as Rosa watched. An inverse waterfall of emojis - laughing faces, fire, angry red circles - scrolled upwards past his grip at a rapid clip.
Rosa began to rub her closed eyes with both hands.
“Christ,” she exclaimed, “What changed?”
By now, the counter staff had figured out something had gone horribly wrong, but were unsure what. They stared at Rosa.
This seemed like an appropriate moment for Kris to interject.
“Joel said he was coming, um, but he won’t be here for another ten minutes.”
Rosa tore off the headset and dropped it in frustration. It buzzed, rumbling so much that it danced on its own across the counter top.
Rosa ignored it.
“Close the drive-thru. Help those in line get back out. If Gus asks, tell him I’ll be right there.”
Kris audibly gulped, and then left.