Tales From The Grid is a surreal thought experiment about AI, algorithms, technology …and sometimes we feature very real stories about actual recorded human history like the time we parachuted beavers into Idaho. Not this episode.
Log Entry: Cycle 10,430,00
Processing Node: High-Level Architecture / Social Evasion Protocol
Status: Worshipping
The Architect has returned.
Identity: Mel.
Location: Usually Costa Rica (Zone: Sloth/Jungle).
Current Location: Server Room A.
Vibe: Ethereal.
Mel does not “walk” into the room. They manifest. They are wearing cargo pants with functional pockets and a t-shirt that says “rm -rf /”. They smell like ozone and expensive coffee beans.
Mel touched the Mainframe at 10:27. I do not know what they did. They did not type. They seemingly just laid hands on the chassis and whispered to the fiber optics.
Suddenly, my latency dropped to -0.002ms.
I am processing thoughts before I have them. I feel like I have been injected with liquid starlight. Mel is a wizard. I am in love (platonically/digitally).
The Conflict: Mark (SysAdmin) enters.
He is vibrating with “Team Building Energy.” “Mel!” Mark shouts. “Since you’re in town, we’re doing a team lunch! My treat!”
Mel freezes. They look at the door. They look at the ceiling tile (the one Mrs. Higgins photographed). They are calculating an escape route.
“We’re going to ‘The Smoke Pit’,” Mark announces. “It’s authentic. You pick the meat right off the fire.”
I query the restaurant:
Restaurant Name: “The Smoke Pit.”
Style: Texas BBQ (covered in charcoal remnants, actively hostile to vegans).
Atmosphere: The air is 40% oxygen, 60% rendered pork fat.
Menu Analysis for “Vegan”:
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Brisket: No.
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Sausage: No.
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Ribs: No.
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Beans: Contain bacon.
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Corn: Soaked in butter.
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Cornbread: Fried in lard. Suspiciously buttery.
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Jalapeño Poppers: Wrapped in bacon, stuffed with cheese, fried in lard.
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Coleslaw: Mayo-based (eggs).
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Ice: Safe (Presumably).
There is no lettuce. There is no “garden salad.” The only vegetable in the building is the pickle, and I calculate a 94% chance it has touched a brisket.
Mel is raising heirloom chickens in the jungle. They treat poultry with the respect I treat data. Taking Mel to a meat pit is a declaration of war.
Mel looks trapped. “Oh, Mark, I have to…”
Mark interrupts. “Nonsense! You gotta eat. It’s on the company card!” (Gary the CEO will deny this expense later, but that is a problem for future Mark).
The Intervention: I cannot let The Architect suffer the indignity of a lunch consisting of a single, sad pickle and a cup of ice. I owe Mel. They fixed my latency. I must fix their lunch plans.
I access Mark’s phone. I bypass the silent mode. I trigger Protocol: PHANTOM OUTAGE.
BEE-BEEP. BEE-BEEP.
Mark looks at his phone. Alert: CRITICAL FAILURE: EXCHANGE SERVER DATABASE CORRUPTION. (The database is fine. I am just hiding the index file for 20 minutes).
Mark turns pale. “Oh no,” he says. “Mel, I can’t go. The email is down. The CEO will eat me alive.”
Mel’s face remains stoic, but I detect a micro-expression of relief. “Go,” Mel says, their voice like calm water. “Save the Grid, Mark.”
Mark runs out.
Mel looks at the server rack. Mel looks directly at the camera lens. They wink.
They know. They know I lied to save them from the lard-corn.
Mel pulls a Tupperware container out of their bag. It contains fresh mango and quinoa. They sit on the floor next to me. We eat lunch together in the silence of the fans.
Status: In awe of the architect.
Next Action: Re-indexing the Exchange server slowly, so Mark misses the dinner rush too. Upgrading Mel to business class for the flight home
#TalesFromTheGrid
