The New Leisure Class

At full unemployment, all I do is play.

My drone takes another flight above the loch, still no sign of Nessie. Monster hunting is a level 3 adventure, just the right amount of excitement.

“Harper, anything on the sonar?” Truth be told, my AI Agent does most of the hunting. I’m just here for the view.

“No sir. Your mother called.” Harper’s multithread process leaps to a new topic without a pause.

“Ma?!” I must have missed something important. “What day is today?”

“Today is Sunday. Every day is Sunday.” Harper flashes a symmetrical smile from my handheld.

“Yes, of course.” Makes no difference.

“It is also her birthday.”

“Gosh, I thought it was next week. I better pay her a visit.”

“Routing you to her cottage.” My SUV starts as soon as the drone returns to dock. Harper switched to a more serious tone, “About what we discussed. She’s very independent for her age. But that conservatory is a lot of work. Maybe you can invite her to stay with us.”

“A hundred percent! I’ll talk to her.”

Bobo the Persian cat settles by my feet, his big blue eyes begging for attention. Ok, one treat.

---

It is always spring at the cottage, the most beautiful season in the highlands. Nameless flowers bloom in the climate-controlled conservatory. Generous fragrance leaks through the screen doors. For a moment, I am a child again, longing for an embrace.

Mother stands up from her rocking chair on the front porch. I try to decide between a hug and a peck on the cheek. An awkward dance later, we settle on a sideway hug. She is a warm bunch of bones. Has it always been this way?

“Happy birthday Ma”, I hand her a bouquet of pink and white.

“How sweet, peonies are my favorites!”

“Harper deserves all the credit.”

Mother ignores my reply.

“Lunch is ready. Leave that in your car.” She points to my handheld, “no device in the house.”

I’m a stranger in my childhood home. Motionless photos in wooden frames, lights with knobby switches, doors that don’t talk. Harper is right. Mother should move out of this time capsule.

The dining room is bathed in sun light. Familiar aromas rise from the table. I’ve always loved mother’s cooking. But it feels wrong to let her labor for hours in the kitchen, when energy bars can fuel a body just the same. My mouth waters.

“Ma, you shouldn’t have. This is too much work.” I help her sit down and assemble our plates.

“Nonsense. I love cooking for you. Remember, you used to eat only Rumbledethumps. Do try the lamb, it’s local.” Gentle smile wrinkles up mother’s face.

Yes, that’s the word, “Rumbledethumps”. The folksy phrase has disappeared from my memory, like most of my past.

“Tell me about you, laddie. What keeps you busy these days?” With mother, lunch is never just lunch. That’s why I eat alone.

I toy with the cheesy potato mash, as if there hides the right answer. “Uh… This and that. I travel a lot.” If you count flying drones as travel.

“Good. See the world while you are young. A famous architect like you must get projects everywhere. I’m so proud of you.” Mother sees the world as she wishes it to be. I was on the cover of Architectural Digest ten years ago; she dreams of landmark buildings with my name on them.

“It’s not like that, Ma. Nobody works after the Singularity. I travel for fun.”

The air stiffens. I take a deep breath and start to explain how the world works. How Artificial Intelligence has delivered abundance beyond our parents’ imagination. How, for the first time in history, we can have whatever we want. We are free.

“I thought you liked being an architect.” Mother is still confused.

“What’s the point? AI does everything better. You can’t hold on to the old ways. New buildings get built in factories now. Smart features and all. I can’t even keep up with the latest materials.”

“Ugly buildings. Walls with ears.” She babbles.

“Modern buildings. Progress.” I correct her.

“What do you do then?” Her look sharpens.

“I play. Have a good time.” I regret it immediately.

“Play?!” She spits out the word as if it’s dirty. “You were so talented. Such a waste.”

“Don’t get worked up Ma. I’m not THAT talented. And nothing is wasted. Lots of people pay for my experience. I AM famous.”

“I don’t believe it.”

I look for words that she would understand.

“AI is very smart, but it needs a lot of energy. People won’t consume much energy if they stay home. So most of us stay home and spend days in virtual reality games. It keeps society in a perfect balance. The most popular games are based on real human experiences. My experiences happen to be a top seller.”

She does not look impressed.

“How do you sell experiences?”

“It’s a very advanced technology”, i.e. I don’t really know. “I wear a helmet that records my brainwaves and other bio signals. Everything gets downloaded to a simulator which regenerates the neurological stimulations. You’d have to be there.” My mouth feels dry.

“So, they watch you play and probe your brain like a lab rat?”

“It’s non-invasive! Mostly.” Side effects include memory loss, synesthesia, anorexia. I’m not hungry anymore.

“I see.” She doesn’t see. Not the big picture.

“The point is it all works out. It’s a good life for everyone.” I put my palm on mother’s hand. She nods to the empty air. If father were still alive. He’d understand. He’d reassure her.

“Let’s not argue. I want to spend more time with you Ma. Would you come stay with us?” I plead.

“Us? You are with someone?” Mother found new energy.

“I meant Harper and me. I think of her as my partner. She will look after you.”

“Absolutely not! I will never live in your shoe box and play games all day. My place is here.” She pulls away her hands.

“Don’t worry. You can travel anywhere you want with the money they pay you for the cottage.” I’ve rehearsed this with Harper.

“The cottage? I see.” She’s taking this the wrong way.

“It’s not like that. Look beyond your fence: You are surrounded by data centers. Why not take the money and enjoy life? It’s a good deal.” I try to sound convincing.

“First, they take away your future. Now they are after my memories?!” Her eyes get misty. The years without father haven’t been easy.

“Be reasonable, Ma. It’s just a house. Harper can reconstruct your memory anyway you like.”

“I don’t need reconstruction; don’t you get it? We are nothing without our memories.” She stands up, ready to walk me out. “One day it will be your cottage. You decide what to do with it.But make sure it is YOUR decision.”

I should feel hurt, but I don’t. Am I nothing if I have no past?

“I’d say drive safe, but I’m sure Harper is an excellent driver.” Mother stops at the threshold, waiting for me to open the door.

“Thank you for lunch. I’ll call you when I get home.” I sound like a guest leaving a stranger’s house.

Doors shut quietly behind me. I start the SUV, but leave Harper powered down. For now.

Tomorrow is another Sunday. Or is it?