Toast Essay Research Paper email thebizzhotmailcomToast
Toast Essay, Research Paperelectronic mail: thebizz @ hotmail.comToast & # 8220 ; A gracious forenoon, Mistress Angelique, & # 8221 ; the wassailer said. & # 8220 ; I am your wassailer, theoretical account figure HL-70, and it is my responsibility to see that you have a happy breakfast. & # 8221 ; The adult female seemed startled. No disquieted, instead.
Raven-haired, beautiful, graceful as ever, sheturned, so glared at the waiting machine. & # 8220 ; I would urge toast, of class, & # 8221 ; the wassailer continued. & # 8220 ; Grain fibre is an of import portion of your day-to-day nutritionary demand. Unless one should be a fullyprogrammed kitchen contraption such as I, if I may be permitted the gag, one can non populate on electricity alone. & # 8221 ; The adult female frowned, and the wassailer & # 8217 ; s optical scanner signaled a soundless warning. EntryGuardian, exemplary figure XT-801, had already told the flat & # 8217 ; s house servants that their humanmistress had returned tardily the old dark, her breath laden with alcohol-based hydrocarbons. The wassailer alerted Coffee Maker, theoretical account figure 6-NP-31. It was traveling to be one of thosemornings.
The adult female grunted. & # 8220 ; I don & # 8217 ; t want breakfast. Got ta acquire dressed. & # 8221 ; She twirled and stalked down the narrow hallway, back to her sleeping room, to reappear merely minutes subsequently, her slender signifier encased in a snug-fitting office jump suit. & # 8220 ; A gracious forenoon once more, lovely kept woman, & # 8221 ; the wassailer said. It activated its bread-feed conveyor, choosing a light wheat-barley blend, and set its oleo heater to cook.
& # 8220 ; I have taken the autonomy of measuring your toast needs myself. But while you are waiting, may I teach Refrigerator, theoretical account figure 51-XDM-504, to pour you a nice, cold glass of fruit juice? & # 8221 ; & # 8220 ; Don & # 8217 ; t want fruit juice, & # 8221 ; the adult female said. & # 8220 ; Just gim me some coffee.
& # 8221 ; The adult female pouted. & # 8220 ; Coffee straight, got it? & # 8221 ; & # 8220 ; Black, Mistress Angelique? Of class. Coffee Maker will acquire it ready. And, with your toast, I have an first-class jam choice & # 8230 ; & # 8221 ; ” Don & # 8217 ; t you understand? & # 8221 ; the adult female said. & # 8220 ; I don & # 8217 ; t want toast.
I don & # 8217 ; t want breakfast. I merely wantcoffee. & # 8221 ; The adult female set to the cup that Coffee Maker offered, uncovering that her gold-stripedjumpsuit was cut low in forepart, suited for flushing wear every bit good as the office.
& # 8220 ; Oh, but now kept woman is doing a gag, & # 8221 ; the wassailer persisted. It preselected a strawberry jam and started it warming, so added more bread to its standby hopper. & # 8220 ; Of class you want breakfast. It is my responsibility to be certain your organic structure is primed and ready for the twenty-four hours. For this you need Calories. Carbohydrates.
Later, possibly, a protein supporter. But to get down your forenoon away right, you must foremost hold toast. & # 8221 ; & # 8220 ; I don & # 8217 ; t want toast. & # 8221 ; The adult female was shouting. & # 8220 ; Not merely do I non desire toast, but I don & # 8217 ; t want juice and I don & # 8217 ; t want jam. And, particularly, I don & # 8217 ; t want to be holding an statement with my toaster.
& # 8221 ; & # 8220 ; Mistress Angelique, & # 8221 ; the wassailer said, & # 8220 ; I am programmed to explicate that if you get angry, you will non digest your nutrient in an efficient mode. Therefore, it is my responsibility to see that your breakfast is happy every bit good as alimentary. And, to this terminal & # 8221 ; The wassailer paused for dramatic consequence, so activated its pop-up circuit. & # 8220 ; To this terminal, kept woman, I present you with toast! & # 8221 ; ” I don & # 8217 ; t want toast! & # 8221 ; The adult female slammed her java cup down on the counter surface and lungedat the wassailer. It flipped its marmalade-well cap unfastened and slid back the screen to its preheated oleo caddy. & # 8220 ; Ifmistress prefers grape & # 8230 ; & # 8221 ; She grabbed the wassailer in both her custodies, spun, and hurled it across the counter, into the livingroom-dinette.
Its power cord snapped merely before it hit the far wall. & # 8220 ; Mistress was angry, & # 8221 ; Vacuum Cleaner, theoretical account figure 100-3-T, whispered in Toaster & # 8217 ; s aural detector. & # 8220 ; You should hold seen yourself when she threw you, spiting a trail of toast crumbs and jam & # 8230 ; & # 8221 ; & # 8220 ; I plugged you back in, & # 8221 ; a higher voice added the voice of Duster, theoretical account figure X-7-R3. & # 8220 ; My operators were able to make that much, but I haven & # 8217 ; t the strength to raise you back to the kitchenette counter. & # 8221 ; & # 8220 ; Mistress Angelique left for work shortly after she threw you.
What a muss, though! Are you experiencing okay? & # 8221 ; ” Yes, thank you, Vacuum, & # 8221 ; the wassailer said. Vacuum Cleaner was non really smart, in position of thelimited responsibilities he had, but he was loyal the sort of contraption one was proud to name one & # 8217 ; sfriend. Gingerly, Toaster switched his self-damage detector on merely to do certain thenreactivated his optical scanner. & # 8220 ; I & # 8217 ; ve finished cleaning up the crumbs, & # 8221 ; Vacuum Cleaner said. Toaster swung his scanner about, seeing the jam musca volitanss and pools of oleo that still marked his transition.
And, snaking throughthem, he saw the extension cord Duster had rigged to a lamp socket for him. But, as the vacuumcleaner had said, all crumbs had disappeared. & # 8220 ; I & # 8217 ; ve besides called out Rug Shampooer, & # 8221 ; the vacuity continued. & # 8220 ; We & # 8217 ; ll acquire the remainder cleaned up and & # 8230 ; & # 8221 ; ” Just a minute, & # 8221 ; Toaster said.
He lowered his scanner and saw the duplicate cords of Vacuum andDuster weaving through his. Then he saw a 3rd cord and, away to the left, a 4th and a fifth. He raised his voice ; a dull spatter rumble indicated that the shampooer was already get downing onsome far corner of the rug. & # 8220 ; How many contraptions are on the floor? & # 8221 ; & # 8220 ; Me and Duster, like I said, & # 8221 ; the vacuity replied.
& # 8220 ; And Rug Shampooer & # 8217 ; s floging up now. And Trouble Light is assisting me descry any crumbs that I might hold missed, and, of class, Waxer is taking attention of musca volitanss on the kitchen floor. But why do you inquire? & # 8221 ; ” Rug Shampooer, can you keep off? Power down for a minute? & # 8221 ; Toaster was shouting, desperatelytrying to be heard over the swishing, grating, bubbling sound of the nearing cleaningappliance.
He watched as a pool of detergent lather flooded into his position, distributing across theextension cords. & # 8220 ; Can & # 8217 ; Ts make out what you & # 8217 ; rhenium request, foreman, & # 8221 ; he could hardly hear the shampooer cry back. & # 8220 ; Got ta work fast acquire to the jam and material while it & # 8217 ; s still fresh.
Easier that manner. Stops it fromstaining. & # 8221 ; He watched the pool extend into a river, fluxing, foaming, from wall to palisade. To the wall socket he and the others were plugged into.
& # 8220 ; That was a awful short circuit, Mr. Toaster, & # 8221 ; an authoritative-sounding voice said. & # 8220 ; You should be every bit good as new now, though. & # 8221 ; Toaster repowered his optical scanner. He saw, with alleviation, that he was back in his proper niche onthe kitchen counter, with its position of the populating room-dinette every bit good as the transition to mistress & # 8217 ; sbedroom.
Before him stood a care automaton, a theoretical account SDT-60K, categorization Supervisor. Two other care automatons were assisting set the flat & # 8217 ; s other contraptions back in theirtopographic points. & # 8220 ; Th-thank you, & # 8221 ; the wassailer started to state. He spoke easy and carefully, allowing his voice circuitsregain their strength. “No, Mr.
Toaster. You needn’t thank us. It’s all in a day’s work.
Some apartment gets shorted out, a red light goes on in our room in the basement. So me and the boys come up and fix things. It’s all in the rent contract your mistress signed.””Well, I still thank you,” Toaster began again. Then he heard the rhythmic, crashing soundscoming from the direction of the apartment’s closed entrance. He whipped his optical scanneraround, saw the imitation wood paneling of the doorway start to splinter.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Robots in helmets! Swinging axes!” Entry Guardian XT-801 screamed in reply. “Carrying hoses! Mayday! Mayday!” “Nonsense,” the maintenance robot said. “It’s just the firefighter robots we called. Nothing to be alarmed about.””You mean there’s a fire?” the toaster asked. “Nonsense,” the maintenance robot said.
“But you have to understand, Mr. Toaster, it’s part of the robot union rules. Whenever there’s an electrical short, we have to call in the fire department. It’s just a precaution …”Fragments of imitation wood began to fly across the apartment, landing on the freshly scrubbedcarpet with dull, clanking noises. “But what are they doing, chopping the door down? Why don’t they just show their ID cards to Entry Guardian?” “Another union rule, Mr. Toaster. Based, or so I understand, on centuries of firefighting tradition. You wouldn’t want to deny tradition, would you?” “When you put it that way,” the toaster said, wincing as a fragment bounced off his counter, “I don’t suppose I would want to deny it.
But …””I would,” Entry Guardian said. “And me too,” said the vacuum cleaner from the closet he had been put away in. “I’ll end up having to clean it, you know.” “But,” Toaster continued, “isn’t the main electrical feed to the apartment’s interior circuits located underneath the door jamb? I mean, if the firefighters chop too hard, wouldn’t they …” “Bet you didn’t know your apartment’s power circuit runs under the front door,” a feminine voice said. “Sure fooled us, anyway.
Not to worry, though, we got emergency electricity rigged. And not only that, the good news is, there wasn’t any fire after all. Ain’t that a real hoot?”Toaster very, very carefully powered up his optical scanner. Looming over him was the face of aFirefighter Robot, classification Humanoid, sub-class Feminine, Brunette/Curly. Toaster winced a sort of metallic Mistress Angelique, was his first thought. Except for one thing. This face was smiling. “You want to know something else funny, Toaster? The way you wiggle your scanner like that, I think you’re kind of cute.
”Toaster activated his bread feed, scarcely realizing that he had done so the way she smiled, hethought she was cute, too. “Uh …” he stammered, “w-would you like some toast?” “I, uh, gee, I don’t really know, Toaster …” “Just call me HL-70 HL for short. It’s my model number. And I’ve got some really nice raisin bread saved. Raisins are rich in iron, you know. Iron, to build healthy metallic bodies …” “Gee, uh, HL.
” Toaster could tell from her voice that she liked him. “Trouble is, I’m on duty and all and, since the fire danger’s cleared up here, I really should go back to the station house. Still, I, uh …”Toaster could tell she was trying to find an excuse to stay. He tried to remember those nights whenMistress Angelique had brought a fellow human back with her. “Scored,” as she would sometimessay the following mornings. She and the human guest would converse as they worked their wayfrom the living room couch to the bedroom hall, then down the hall and out of sight, even fromToaster’s perch on his counter. But exactly what things did they say to each other? “I-I could make special toast for you, baby,” he blurted out. It was the only thing he could think of.
“Warm, sensuous toast, with real butter.” Toasters, he suddenly realized, had serious limitations in these matters. “I could make toast with hot marmalade. Steaming with genuine robo-bee honey. Toast with thick crusts, hot, crispy-brown, to match the color of your burnished hair. I …” “Yeah, you’re cute, HL.
I’ll say that for you.” The firefighter grinned, the same way Mistress Angelique grinned when she was in one of her rare good moods. “But still, you know. Like I, uh … like firerobots don’t eat toast. Maybe sometime, if you have a fire …” “I burn for you, beautiful fireperson robot my heating coils quiver. My thermostat rises.
I …” Toaster realized the firefighter robot was already picking up her equipment. “Maybe I … uh … could ask Refrigerator to give you a beer?”The firefighter grinned a second time and winked at Toaster. Then she was gone. He looked around him.
The other appliances were all in their minimal-power standby modes, putaway in their niches and closets. Toaster felt very much alone. Toaster thought long and hard during the night.
He knew, somehow, that he had missed his onlychance. That, even if he could arrange a fire, that particular firefighter robot would never return. He thought of the things he should have said. The logical arguments one would use to a firefighterrobot to make her stay. He thought of how he might have argued that toasters like him wereinherent fire hazards, due to their circuitry. How, for the safety of the whole building for thewhole city each should have personal fire protection.
How, maybe, he could have forced her tostay. He almost missed Door Guardian’s whispered warning: “Fellow appliances, stay out of sight. Mistress is in the outer hall, and her breath smells of hydrocarbons again. She slaps her I.D. against my sensor. She slaps it hard I think she is angry. Fellow appliances, stay out of sightand prepare for morning.
”No, not angry, toaster thought as Mistress Angelique stumbled through the living room-dinette andinto the hall. Not really angry, even if, as Door Guardian implied, it would, indeed, be one ofthose mornings. But no, he thought. It would be different this time. No more dispassionate, even if well-meaning,talks on nutrition he knew other words to use to his mistress. And no more plain wheat toast forher either.
Not even the raisin bread in his hopper. No, he thought. He knew now how she felt, coming back as she was, no doubt from an unfulfilledrendezvous with some human firefighter. Alone and lonely, just as he was when his firerobot hadwalked out on him. He made up his mind then, just before he powered himself down to rest-cycle status. Tomorrowmorning would be different.
Mistress Angelique would see. Tomorrow morning he would insist she try blueberry danish.