the girl in google glass

The Girl in Google Glass by John McElhenney

This time when my pants burst into flames I was sitting in an unfamiliar wine bar staring into her eyes and talking about my successful consulting business. She had just mentioned how she was not in any hurry to move things into the bedroom or get serious, but I knew she was lying, as I could see the glowing green numbers of my credit scores flicker across her Google Glass eyewear.

“Me neither,” I said, and the madras shorts I was wearing lit up with light blue flames. She almost didn’t notice, because I had gotten better at concealing my shock, but it still got me with the tingling sensation in my crotch, like a mild electrical shock, reminding me to stay closer to the truth.

She smiled, and sipped the organic malbec, something flickering across her screens, just below my perceptive range. She’d seen the flames. She almost laughed, I could see she was holding it back.

Her cyber-match was 97% on OKCupid, and I knew that anyone above an 82 was an easy target for first-date sex. And my levels were off the charts, as I had been going through a relative dry spell.

She was toying with me now, like a kitty with a wounded bird.

“I’m certain I would make an excellent mother, were I given the blessing of a child,” she said, almost spitting out her mouthful of wine. I was in dangerous territory. Any further lying and my britches might actually start smoking.

“Were you thinking of giving the lottery a try,” I asked. We both knew she wasn’t talking about procreation.

“It’s the will of the gods, I suppose,” she said, and that was it. I could see the Google Glass flicker off, and we were done. I didn’t know the results yet, but she had come to a decision. She took a very slow and sensuous, almost considered, sip of her wine. I could feel the burn going down the back of her throat. “Or do you believe in all that stuff?” she asked.

“I’m willing,” I said. Shit, I’d blown my hand. I had not meant to give her any signals that I was ON. But she knew. She already knew. Maybe the Glass program she had run was really one of those “cheat” programs that did metrics and analysis in real-time. I’m sure my real-time score was about as transparent as the scorch marks on my skivvies. “I mean,” I countered, “Within protocol, of course.”

We both knew I was skirting the answer. She had clearly asked if I wanted to have sex, I merely had to give an affirmative and we’d be off to navigating to an available bedroom.

Something changed in her confidence. I could see the Glass flicker back on. It looked like a phone call. Here eyes stopped focusing on me, and her grin slithered off her face. I had to move now or she would have the upper hand.

“I’m prepared to accept the offer, if it pleases the gods and goddesses,” I said. She would know. She had to know I was accepting. I needed to accept.

“Um, just a second,” she said. She was faltering. I probably missed her. I wanted to rip the Glass off her head. She had enough enhancements without the damn net getting involved. For all I knew, it was my parole officer calling her back.

And we were done.

“I’m sorry, Jim, there is no way I can go tonight,” she said. The lie was on it’s way. “I’m due for a routine cleaning in 10 minutes, and I haven’t even flossed.”

The damn dentist routine. I’d seen this countermove before.

She held out her d-card, “If you want to try again in a few days, I’d be open to another date,” she said, but the sparkle she had entered the bar with was gone. Something had given me away. Maybe it was my Yelp scores, maybe my deep Google SERP page had revealed my actual credit history. I was only recently back in the owning-class. It was something I was not ashamed of, but I knew some chicks had a problem with credit trouble.

I accepted her card. “Yes, I’ve got some cleaning due as well.”

I was already thinking of calling that SEO dude to see if he could clean up my search results. Forensic SEO they called it. They couldn’t remove your Yelp reviews, nobody could do that, but he’d said over the wire that he could bury the results so far down the pages, that it’d take a week for a woman to scroll down far enough on Glass to see the truth.

Fucking Google. Always trying to leverage their data in the name of a “better world.”



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