Avatar Labor

At the 2019 ANA Avatar Xprize summit in Geneva we were shown hospital patients using robotic avatars to be servers remotely in a restaurant. Being a resident of the US I was immediately struck with a pang of dystopia about that possibility space: using bed-bound patients as a new source of labor.

I feel the familiar slide of an IV needle being re-inserted into my left arm vein. At first I would focus on it out of habit, after all it was happening to my real body. But after a few dropped platters and angry customers I learned quickly that my avatar’s sensations are my real priority on the job.

Making my way over to table 4 with the final round of drinks, this is my last chance with these people to try and get a decent tip. I’ve been slow on my roll at the remote restaurant this last month due to my degenerating condition here in bed. If I miss another payment they’ll take me off the dialysis machine, then I’ll probably be no better than a mere AI server and they'll discharge me to my demise.

“Hey it’s robo blow, alright finally with our drinks!” the leader of table four’s obnoxious group of drunk boymen proclaims as I slide up to the table and begin depositing drinks.

Three down, and last one, ah shit! I feel a searing pain in my real left arm and I can’t squelch the neuron firing in time to prevent my surrogate avatar arm from contracting and spilling the drink on the chief boyman.

“What the fuck you piece of shit!?” He screams, my avatar registering spittle hitting its faceplate.

“I, I’m so sorry sir…” I stammer as the pain in my left arm grows greater. They must have botched the IV again! They even have those headsets that show them where my vein is, geez I must really be in the cheap seats now holy hell.

“Sorry won’t cut it, we’re out of here.” and they get up to leave. The doorman surrogate avatar attempts to stop them, yet due to the avatar anti violence laws of 2024 meat bodies take precedence and can just slide by.

I sense the nagging pings of the restaurant manager AI and the sucking draw of my paycheck funneling into paying for this dine and dip.

“Oh sue me!” I shout out as an avatar, and the restaurant patrons turn toward my plastic body as it drops limp, having been just fired for disrespect to customers.

I remove the trodes from my head and grasp at my actual arm, searing in pain to remove the IV.

“Nurse! Nurse!” I shout as I get the IV out and it spurts that yellowish liquid they say saves my life, yet I feel drains me deeper. I work to live here. I might never leave. I am the new class of Avatar Labor in a prison of Long Term Care.

Share