Funscreen

Funscreen

  by Craig A. Falconer

  Copyright 2013 Craig A. Falconer

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual events or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  FUNSCREEN

  Craig A. Falconer

  Table of Contents

  4pm

  6pm

  8pm

  Author's Notes

  4pm

  Roger Birch's Funscreen spoke to him in its usual voice; pleasant, female, and unnervingly lifelike. "Please rate the previous commercial placement in terms of enjoyment and interest," it said.

  He held up one finger for enjoyment followed by a clenched-fist zero for interest. The weight-loss ads had always annoyed Roger. It was one thing to be watched by the Funscreen - no one minded that - but it was something else to be judged by it. Something worse.

  In reality, the Funscreen already had all the response data it needed in the form of Roger's tired facial expression and his restful heartbeat. The Funscreen counted fingers largely to gauge viewer honesty, and Roger's low ratings reaffirmed its knowledge that showing him any more ads for diet pills would be a waste of everyone's time.

  "Thank you, Roger. You will receive no further placements from our good friends at Gut Busters. While we appreciate that you are happy at your current weight, visual input suggests that your jeans are a little tight. Our good friends at Mansize Clothing would love to show you their latest styles. You will receive 50 FunFare credits for viewing this placement."

  Roger raised his right thumb in agreement. A 50-credit placement was not to be sniffed at, especially when he needed another 245 credits to buy an entry for the big quiz before the 7pm deadline. He always needed credits, of course, but he really needed them tonight. First prize in the monthly quiz was 10,000,000 FunFare credits - more than he could earn in a decade of all-day ad-viewing. Roger's wife Lydia, one of the lucky few who still had a cash-paying job, earned only slightly more than he did.

  The Mansize Clothing ad began. Roger paid keen attention at first, hoping that an interested facial expression might encourage his Funscreen to deliver more of these high-paying placements in the future. After six long minutes of well-dressed fat men talking to well-dressed thin women in trendy bars and caf?s, Roger's concentration faded. He looked to the floor for a few seconds and rubbed his brow to regain focus. An alarm began to sound.

  A familiar female voice addressed Roger, somewhat less pleasantly than before. "Please remove all obstructions from the field of view and resume viewing. Please remove all obstructions from the field of view and?"

  Roger looked back up at the Funscreen. The ad resumed and ended only 30 seconds later. "Thank you for viewing," said the Funscreen. "After applying a 10-credit interruption penalty, we have credited your account with 40 FunFare credits. Please rate the previous commercial placement in terms of enjoyment and interest."

  Roger raised his middle finger once for enjoyment and again for interest. He hated the Funscreen. He hated how degrading the whole thing was - being paid peanuts by advertisers in return for his attention - but more than that he hated how necessary it was.

  Roger's family was one of the millions that depended on a Funscreen, the smartest of all smart TVs. Every major political party had agreed that the new technology represented the best way to proceed with the much-needed privatisation of welfare and the unemployed masses soon had nowhere else to turn. Subsidised Funscreens were made available to all claimants and traditional welfare payments were phased out. Now, rather than being a burden on the state, each citizen could make a living by selling the one thing that would always be valuable: their attention.

  Funscreen was a winner for all involved. The government saved on welfare spending; advertisers pounced on the opportunity to target consumers with military precision; producers delighted in their instant feedback on which area of the screen viewers focused on at any given moment; Joe Schmo could spend 18 hours on the couch every day and his wife couldn't say a word against it. The system was perfect.

  Roger walked to the kitchen for a drink and caught his reflection in the mirror as he passed, unshaven and unkempt. He looked down at the robe and slippers he had taken to wearing every day. He thought about his previous life: a life in which he was Mr Birch rather than Roger, a life in which the robe was a suit, and a life in which the TV was something he looked forward to watching after a long day at the office. The memories were paper-thin.

  The front door swung noisily open as Roger reached for a can of Whizz Cola. He couldn't believe it was already that time, but, sure enough, the kids were home from school.

  "How was your day?" he asked.

  16-year-old Danny didn't even offer his usual shrug as he hung his wet jacket on the back of the door. Sophie, still a few years away from teenage indifference, smiled at Roger. "Good," she said. "I earned 3 credits doing consumer surveys on my phone at lunch and another 6 watching ads on the school bus."

  "That is good," Roger said. He wasn't sure if he meant it. Sophie's earnings were automatically added to the family wallet, and 9 credits would help with the quiz fund. Still, though, the idea of her having to sit through the same garbage he did for even one minute didn't sit well. "You should go outside and play when the rain stops," he told her. "You've done enough for one day."

  Sophie smiled again and went upstairs to change.

  "I didn't earn anything," said Danny. "Do I get to stay in?"

  "What were you doing at lunch?" Roger asked him.

  "Eating."

  "And on the bus?"

  Danny shrugged. "Studying, I guess."

  "You guess?"

  "I guess."

  "So when's the test?"

  "Tomorrow. That's why I have to study today."

  Roger looked at the clock in the corner of his Funscreen. He had just under four hours until the quiz and still needed more credits than he cared to count. Despite hating ads, Danny watched a lot of TV. His consumer profile was therefore very well-formed, making his attention much more valuable than Sophie's and Lydia's. He could come in handy.

  "You're not studying until you've watched TV for an hour," Roger said.

  Danny knew it was quiz night and he could see from the Funscreen's dashboard that the family wallet needed a quick boost if Roger was going to be able to buy an entry. "Fine," he said. He didn't really care about studying, anyway.

  Danny sat down and the Funscreen greeted him. Roger handed him an extra can of Whizz Cola and sat at the other end of the couch. After a few seconds searching for the most relevant ad, the Funscreen spoke up again.

  "Our good friends at Lexington Cola would love to share a special message with the two of you. You will each receive 5 FunFare credits for viewing this placement."

  10 credits for two people? Roger was in no position to argue, but 10 credits was an insult. As a safeguard against what Funscreen termed Attention Fatigue, each viewer could receive a maximum of six paid placements in one hour. At 10 credits per placement the quiz would be well out of his reach.

  Danny sensed his father's disappointment. "Make it 15 each and we'll think about it," he said to the Funscreen.

  "Just this once," the Funscreen replied without delay. Roger raised his thumb instinctively as he tried to process the unfolding events. Since when did the Funscreen respond to haggling?

  The Lexington Cola ad was new; Lexington spoke to Roger most days but he had never seen this one. A man and his son, roughly Danny's age, were smiling as they took in a baseball game. Each sipped from a gargantuan cup/bucket of Lexington Cola. The camera angle rose above the actors and showed them leaning into each other as they laughed. The screen divided into two sections and a real-time image of Roger and Danny filled the right-hand side.

  "Lexington brings fa
thers and sons closer together," the ad boasted. It was a unique-sounding line that been delivered thousands of times before. A father and son on opposite ends of the couch, each drinking Whizz Cola. Lexington knew when to strike.

  "Maybe we should try Lexington some time," Roger said. The four-minute ad was still rolling, but the Funscreen tended not to count positive discussion as an interruption.

  Before Danny could reply, Sophie called from upstairs. "Danny, look outside! A double rainbow!"

  Danny ran to the window.

  "What are you doing?" Roger shouted. He followed Danny to drag him back.

  A piercing alarm filled the air. "Please remove all obstructions from the field of view and resume viewing. Please remove all obstructions from the field of view and resume viewing..."

  Roger turned to the Funscreen and saw that the ad had been paused. Perfect. Another interruption penalty.

  "You think you can afford to waste your life looking at rainbows?" he yelled at Danny. "Well?"

  Danny didn't answer.

  "Now get your ass back on that couch and watch the damn TV."

  They both sat back down and the ad resumed. It ended three seconds later.

  "Three seconds," Roger said. "A 10-credit penalty because you couldn't sit down for three seconds."

  Danny started to mutter a half-hearted apology but the Funscreen cut him off. "After applying a 20-credit interruption penalty, we have credited your account with 10 FunFare credits. Please rate the previous commercial placement in terms ofenjoyment and interest."

  "Since when is the penalty 20 credits?" Roger protested. "It's always been 10."

  "The standard interruption penalty is 10 credits per viewer," the Funscreen replied. "10 add 10 is 20."

  Danny looked into his father's impotent eyes and whispered. "I'm gonna smash that thing to pieces one day."

  "Causing wilful damage to your Funscreen is a criminal offence," a pleasant female voice reminded him. "Your threat has been recorded."

  Danny mumbled an obscenity as he stood up then looked at Roger again before going upstairs. "I can't believe you put up with this."

  Neither could Roger, truth be told, but what choice did he have? He finished his Whizz Cola and belched appropriately. The Funscreen's placement-matching algorithms whirred with urgency as Roger rubbed his stomach and eyed the clock in the corner of the screen.

  "Lydia will be home soon, Roger," it said. "Our friends at Cheesy Boy Pizza would love to deliver your family's regular order in time for her arrival. You will receive 47 credits for viewing this placement."

  "How much is the pizza at Cheesy Boy?" Roger asked.

  "Your regular Pizza Heaven order will cost 47 FunFare credits from our good friends at Cheesy Boy Pizza, representing a 9-credit per order saving on your usual spend."

  Roger ran some calculations. He needed 186 more credits to enter the quiz, so spending 47 would mean?

  "233," he said. "I'll watch the Cheesy Boy ad for 233 credits."

  The Funscreen was silent.

  "Or you can report back to Cheesy Boy that they lost a potential lifelong customer because you couldn't seal the deal," Roger continued. He doubted that the Funscreen would understand such input, much less consider it, but he had nothing to lose from trying.

  While Roger was stating his case, the Funscreen had been running some calculations of its own. Roger and his family ordered pizza three nights a week without fail. Ordinarily undying in their loyalty to Pizza Heaven, the other major chains had long since abandoned advertising to them. But Cheesy Boy was new on the scene. If Roger bought from them once and liked what he tasted enough to return, Cheesy Boy would have a valuable customer on their hands. Pizza was inexpensive to produce and deliver. A 47-credit order equated to a 29-credit profit after costs and Funscreen's commission had been deducted. If all went well, the ad would pay for itself within three weeks and keep earning indefinitely. It was a no-brainer.

  "Just this once," said the Funscreen.

  "Actually, make it 333," said Roger.

  "Just this once," said the Funscreen.

  "433."

  "Just this once," said the Funscreen.

  "533."

  The Funscreen didn't reply. Seconds passed slowly and awkwardly.

  "533," Roger repeated.

  "Good evening, Roger," a harsh male voice greeted him through the Funscreen's speakers, too gruff to be anything but human. "It has come to our attention that you have been attempting to game the Funscreen system by repeatedly requesting higher than normal credit payments."

  "Who is this?" Roger asked.

  "This is Michael in Enforcement."

  Enforcement. Roger didn't like the sound of that. Why hadn't he settled for 233, or even 433? Why did he have to push it? There were so many questions in Roger's mind, but one quickly moved to the front: "What do you want?"

  "I want to remind you that gaming the system is a very serious offence, Roger. The penalties for attempting to exploit payment-related bugs like this are particularly severe."

  "I wasn't gaming the system," Roger insisted. "I was just seeing how much I could get. I didn't even know there was a bug! It's hardly my fault if your systems don't work."

  Michael in Enforcement was silent as he awaited instructions from his superiors. Eventually his voice returned, noticeably chirpier. "Funscreen accepts your explanation," he said. "And as a thank you for bringing this bug to our attention, we have gifted you an entry ticket for tonight's quiz. Please enjoy this message from our good friends at Cheesy Boy Pizza."

  And enjoy the message Roger did. He didn't pay much attention and he didn't even mind that his account was only credited with the originally agreed 47 credits. The quiz entry was his, and that was all that mattered.

  Due to the delay, the order would arrive just after Lydia got home from work. It was highly unusual for Roger to have an excess of both time and credit, so he endeavoured to make the most of it. He hadn't been able to sit down and watch the six o'clock news in peace for what seemed like months and probably was. Bliss was the only word.

  6pm

  Roger hung on the news-reading duo's every utterance and made a concerted effort to remember the details; there was a good chance that some of the day's news stories would make it into the quiz. After an interesting discussion of the latest celebrity divorce, attention turned to a highly effective drone-strike in Pakistan.

  "Elsewhere, 203 terrorists were today eliminated in the most successful single drone-strike to date," smiled the immaculately turned-out female anchor.

  203. That number would surely come up in the quiz. Roger internalised the figure then focused on the unpronounceable names of towns and cities featured on the onscreen map. The front door swung open at that moment.

  "Hey," said Lydia. She entered hurriedly enough to indicate that the rain had returned.

  Roger was annoyed by the vocal interruption to his info-cramming session. He flicked a hand behind his head to shoo Lydia away from his workstation. Roger didn't see her deflated expression as she walked into the kitchen after a long day in the real world, but the ever-alert Funscreen did. The news reached its first ad break seconds after the kitchen door slammed shut.

  "Our good friends at Everstrong Marriage Counselling would love to help you reconnect with Lydia, Roger. You will receive 30 FunFare credits for viewing this placement."

  Roger was annoyed by this placement suggestion - he felt like the Funscreen was judging him again - and he didn't immediately need the credit. He gave the Funscreen a thumbs-down.

  "No problem, Roger. Our good friends at Diamond Divas would love to help you win your way back into Lydia's good books with their extensive selection of elegant bracelets and earrings. You will receive 30 FunFare credits for viewing this placement."

  Roger couldn't be bothered with any hand gestures so simply told the Funscreen to switch off as he rose to join Lydia in the kitchen and prepare the table for the impending pizza delivery.

  He told her about
the quiz, about his need to pay attention to the news, and about how sorry he was for ignoring her. She offered a meek smile and assisted him in setting the table. No sooner had she gone to call the kids down than the doorbell rang.

  "Pizza," a voice called through.

  Lydia opened the door. "Cheesy Boy Pizza?" she read from the delivery boy's hat. "What happened to Pizza Heaven?"

  "I thought we could try something different," Roger answered. "You're always saying how we should try new things."

  A new brand of pizza wasn't exactly what Lydia had in mind when she made such comments, but at least he was trying.

  Danny and Sophie asked similar questions about the sudden change when they reached the kitchen to find blue pizza-boxes on the table where there should have been red ones. "It's the exact same order we usually make," Roger told them. No one was convinced.

  Danny took the first bite. He nodded carefully as the taste sunk it. "It's better," he said.

  Everyone soon agreed. Sophie was finished first, declaring herself full after just six densely-topped slices. Her attempts to blame her lack of appetite on a big lunch didn't cut it with Lydia.

  "I hope you're not worrying about your weight again, darling," she said. Sophie's silence indicated that she was.

  "You're not even fat," Danny said. Lydia smiled at his kindness.

  "If I'm not fat, why does the Funscreen keep trying to sell me weight-loss pills?" Sophie asked everyone and no one in particular.

  "Those will be for me," Roger said. "I get those ads all the time. Sometimes the Funscreen gets mixed up and delivers the right placement to the wrong person."

  That explanation didn't cut it with Sophie. "If the ad was for you, why did it keep saying my name? Why did it say that a lot of girls my age struggle with stubborn puppy-fat? The whole thing was aimed at me. It even had a virtual Before and After of my body."

  "The Funscreen is an idiot," Danny assured her. "Don't listen to it." He spoke from a position of understanding, having once been targeted by a series of ads for Zit Killa acne cream which pulled the same Before and After tactic that the diet pills were using on Sophie.

  Danny's ads had taken it even further, though, planting his acne-ridden face on an actor's body. The actor stood by his locker in a high-school hallway and looked at the floor as the cheerleading squad walked past and laughed at him. Virtual Danny then reached into his locker and found a bottle of Zit Killa acne cream. He applied the cream and transformed instantly. The cheerleaders stopped to approach him as they walked back in the opposite direction. "Hey," said the prettiest. "I haven't seen you around here before. Call me sometime."