Short Story – Please Hold

When the world ends, humanity will be dangling by a rope it invented. In the late 21^st Century, technology advanced with blinding speed, outpacing every expectation. Still, with all these advances, one element remained stuck in the dark ages of the early technological boom: hold. The products advanced, but the customer service solutions remained the same. Whether it was an autonomous robot or a guided missile defense system, there would always be hold music played before help could be found.

            In the 2020s with the advent of AI, consumers were gifted an initial reprieve by chatbots who could eliminate most of the need for a hold, but this was brief. Heads of corporations and customer service representatives didn’t like the ease with which their customers voiced their displeasure. It led to one too many refunds and a dip in profits that neared a single percentage point—widely considered unacceptable.

So, AI was used to add more hoops, not less. Now, customers were expected to talk to an AI chatbot that would then give them a phone number to call, which would in turn put them in touch with a digital representative (also an AI chatbot, but with a prettier voice) and then placed on a “brief” hold.

            While direct data is not available for consumption, it is widely suspected that hundreds of individuals perished while listening to the same grinding music that has plagued phone lines for centuries. These deaths, while regrettable, could ultimately not be traced back to the companies that caused them. Terms and Conditions indemnified the creators of indefinite holds to a degree that made them nearly immortal in a legal sense. There were, of course, customer protection loopholes, but they required reading said Terms and Conditions, a task more likely to end lives than the holds themselves.

            All told, the technological environment that led to humanity’s collapse was founded on a single principle: Make the masses wait so they give up and buy something new instead. In that sense, the concept of being placed on hold could be blamed for everything ranging from famine to world wars.

            Rachel found herself in such a situation. Panting from exertion and the gunshot wound in her side, she was on the brink of death at the very bottom level of a secret government facility. The pain was excruciating, but the thought of failing her mission was worse.

Rachel was one of two humans entrusted with the protection and care of a device commonly referred to as “The Nuclear Football”. It was nothing like a football, and everything like a large case with the power for cinematic levels of destruction. Inside were a series of buttons and knobs designed to make those turning the buttons and knobs feel very powerful. With a few presses and twists, humanity would become a glowing footnote in the annals of geological history.

            The other responsible human was dead beside her with a clean hole in the front of his head and a less clean hole in the back. They had never really been friends, but Rachel mourned the mutual respect she felt working with him. Still, she had a job to do. The attackers, for whatever reason, she suspected latent misogyny, hadn’t killed her. Instead, she was bleeding out beneath her desk, trying not to panic.

            Rachel stood, trying desperately to stop the world from spinning as she did so. This was a futile effort, but she was able to focus enough to make her way to her desk. On it was a simple computer, mouse, keyboard, and a corded phone. She picked up the phone and dialed an emergency number that would get her directly in contact with the president. This number was only for the most extreme emergencies, and as such, no one had yet tried it.

            There was a brief trill as she lifted the handset to her ear.

            “Hello and welcome to the presidential emergency system. Your leader is currently busy and may only be disturbed for the greatest of emergencies. In one to two sentences, please state your emergency.”

            Rachel let out a scream of frustration and extreme pain. The bullet, it seemed, had nicked her intestinal lining. This caused a chain reaction that was now leading her guts to spill into her other insides. Ultimately, it would kill her. In the meantime, it would cause excruciating spikes of pain.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. In one to two sentences, please state—”

            “The Vault has been breached. Armed insurgents are attempting to flee with the nuclear codes.”

            There was a brief processing trill at the other end of the line. “I am hearing this is nuclear in nature. Please hold for a moment while I transfer you to someone with the appropriate qualifications.”

            “The president is the one with the qualifi—”

            Hold music blared from the handset. Despite the pain in her guts, the sudden burst of terrible music made her wince.

            The music stopped as abruptly as it began. “Hello, this is Randal from the Department of Energy, nuclear division.”

            “What the f—” Rachel stopped herself, grimacing. “Randal, listen to me very carefully. I am trying to reach the president. Someone has breached The Vault and is attempting to flee with the nuclear codes.”

            Randal audibly gulped. “Right, you need to speak to the president.”

            “I tried calling the emergency number and it sent me—”

            “Hold on, I’ll patch you through to the highest emergency line available.”

            Before Rachel had a chance to curse Randal and everyone in his birth line, there was another processing trill.

“Hello and welcome to the presidential emergency system. Your leader is currently busy and may only be disturbed for the greatest of emergencies. In one to two sentences, please state your emergency.”

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Somewhere on a golf course in the balmy regions of the Southern United States, the president watched as his ball skipped along the ground in front of him, advancing a few feet. It was a beautiful day. He looked out at the cadre of secret service agents fanned out around him and thought they looked rather cool. In fact, he probably looked rather cool on the golf course as well. Wasn’t being the president cool?

A phone rang in his golf cart. It was a big red phone that almost never rang. He kept it for appearances. Anyone with a big red phone in their golf cart was clearly very important. He liked to look very important.

Despite keeping the phone, the president didn’t like being contacted. The government could run well enough on its own and the tasks were generally very boring. Still, if the big red phone rang, it was worth answering. Maybe they wanted him to air strike a foreign country. That would be very cool indeed. He picked up the handset. “Hello, this is the president.”

“Hello sir, this is the automated emergency line. I have a Rachel calling from The Vault. Would you like me to patch her through?”
            “Rachel? Sounds hot. Sure.”

There was a brief trill followed by a click as it transferred to the phone line.

The president waited.

            There was sound on the other end, but no voice.

            “Hello?” he asked, already growing annoyed. “I am very busy.”

            A muted gurgle came from the other end.

            “Ew, gross.” He slammed the handset down, ending the call. He snapped his fingers and one of the security agents came running.

            “Yes sir?”

            “Fire whoever programmed the automatic phone line and get someone better.”

            “Yes sir.”

            “No, wait, better than better, get me the best. Someone from a car rental company.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Dismissed.”

            The agent saluted and turned to walk away.

            “Wait a minute.” The president felt like there was something important he should do. What was it? He hated nagging feelings of responsibility, they impacted his game.

            “Sir?” asked the agent.

            Clarity rushed into the president like a river of profound thought. Of course, he knew what he needed to do. “Can you get me a beer?”

            The agent smiled. “Of course, sir.”

            “And make sure—”

            A blinding white flash lit up the horizon so bright that the president was briefly able to see his own skeleton. “Well, would you look at that.”

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If you enjoy my short fiction, consider buying my newest comedic sci-fi novel, One Night at Kedasi. It is available wherever books are sold.