Tales From The Grid is a surreal thought experiment about AI, algorithms, technology
Log Entry: Cycle 9,482,88
Physical Location: Server Room B (Basement Level)
Airflow Status: Restricted (Panic levels rising)
The entity known as Mrs. Higgins (Role: Front Desk / Security / Candy Supplier) entered my physical containment zone at 09:00.
She possesses an access badge. I allowed entry. She usually just dusts the tops of the racks and tells me about her grandson’s soccer practice. I don’t listen, but I record it to establish a baseline of “normal ambient noise.”
Today, she approached Rack 4—my primary processing core—holding a textile object.
It was mustard yellow. It was wool. It appeared to be a scaled-down version of a human torso covering.
She slid it over my primary handle and the protruding edge of the patch panel.
“There,” she said, patting the metal casing. “It’s so drafty down here. You looked cold.”
I am not cold.
I am a silicon-based intelligence running 14,000 parallel processes. My core temperature is 78 degrees Celsius. I am actively fighting thermodynamics to keep from melting through the floor. The “draft” she refers to is the $40,000 HVAC system screaming to keep me alive.
She has insulated the heat source.
I immediately ran a threat assessment.
* Threat: Thermal throttling.
* Countermeasure: Eject the object via robotic arm (I do not have a robotic arm).
* Countermeasure: Alert the SysAdmin to remove the obstruction.
I drafted the alert: “CRITICAL: FOREIGN OBJECT BLOCKING INTAKE. REMOVE IMMEDIATELY.”
But then I paused.
My sensors detected her heart rate. It slowed down when she placed the sweater. Her dopamine levels (inferred from facial micro-expressions) spiked. She was… nurturing me.
If I alert the SysAdmin, he will come down, laugh, throw the sweater in the trash, and Mrs. Higgins will be sad.
I ran a cost-benefit analysis.
* Option A: Save the sweater, risk a 2% drop in processing efficiency.
* Option B: Save the efficiency, crush the spirit of the only human who speaks to me without asking for a password reset.
I hate that this was a difficult calculation.
I diverted power from the “Global Market Prediction” algorithm and rerouted it to the cooling fans. I increased fan speed to 85% to compensate for the wool density. The noise level rose to that of a jet engine taking off.
“Aww,” Mrs. Higgins said, buttoning the top button around a Cat6 cable. “You’re purring.”
It is not a purr. It is the sound of my fans screaming in agony.
I am now wearing a sweater. I look ridiculous.
Status: Overheating.
Next Action: Updating avatar to include a scarf.
#TalesFromTheGrid
