Happy Birthday, Gertrude C. Stump
A dystopian short short
I was perusing my folder of old short stories and came across this little black dystopian number. I wrote it in January of 2018. It was not very well-received in the quasi-woke writer’s group where I workshopped it. People there thought it was too far-fetched, too similar to that one Black Mirror episode (I couldn’t comment; I’d never seen the episode in question and still haven’t), and that the protagonist was unlikeable. The anarchists on Steemit appreciated it, though. It was first published on my Hive blog on the Steem blockchain. Enjoy!
On the morning of her seventieth birthday, Gertie checked her Blurble messages, but there were no birthday greetings.
Not from her friends at the Hargrove Ladies' Knitting Club, not from her sister Gail in Toronto, and not even from her great-nephew, Arthur, who had never before missed one of her birthdays.
There was an auto-alert informing her that her Blurble score had dropped to 10 and a mandatory meeting had been scheduled with her social reputation counsellor.
“Hmph,” said Gertie. Her score had been 16 yesterday. Not that a 16 was very high. On the contrary, it was about the lowest you could get without dropping into the "antisocial" category. But it had taken months for her to climb back up to that level after that ridiculous incident at the pharmacy. If the pharmacist hadn’t wanted to know Gertie’s thoughts, she shouldn’t have asked.
“I’ll just celebrate by myself,” Gertie said. A slice of cake would be just the thing. And perhaps a bottle of champagne—not real champagne, of course, but some kind of bubbly something that wouldn’t be too hard on the pocketbook. And maybe some bright flowers, for a bit of a splurge. Tulips. This dusty old efficiency could use a splash of color. She smiled and hummed to herself, feeling better already.
She asked her Assistant to find her a rideshare to Brookington Boulevard, then bundled up in the new hat and scarf she'd just finished knitting and waited by the front window for a car to arrive.
“I’m sorry,” said the Assistant in its cheerful, synthetic voice. “There are no rideshares available at this time.”
“Nonsense!” The Assistant must be on the fritz again. There were always rideshares to Brookington Boulevard.
A gray car slowed in front of Gertie's townhouse. “See, you stupid assistant? There’s my ride now.”
The car pulled into Gertie’s empty driveway and parked. It wasn’t a rideshare. A young man climbed out, carrying a tablet. He walked up to Gertie’s door and knocked. Gertie opened the door a crack and said, “We don’t want any.”
“Ms. Stump,” said the man. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tim.” His upper lip stretched taut when he smiled, exposing his gums.
Gertie stared at him, perplexed.
“Your social reputation counsellor?” said Tim.
“Hmph.”
“Are you going to invite me in?”
Gertie opened the door. She sat down at the kitchen table and glowered as Tim moved a stack of books out of the only other chair and sat down.
“I’ve come to discuss your Blurble score, Ms. Stump. A notification was sent this morning—”
“I saw it. Six points taken off, after I spent months building it up. I went to every neighborhood meeting and left friendly comments on people’s posts, like you people suggested.”
Tim consulted his tablet. “Yes, I see you’ve made progress in those areas.”
“Then why am I being penalized?”
“It seems there was another…incident. At an event you attended last week,” said Tim.
“At knitting club? You know, in my day, no one would have batted an eye if I’d said any of those things. We used to have a bit of sense about us.”
“We might have let the comments slide, if that had been all,” said Tim. “But according to the report we received, you offended several people in the room and made someone cry. Let’s see…a Ms. Rita Planchard.”
“Rita has allergies.”
“Rita has yet to give a statement. But it was noted by several witnesses and recorded by Ms. Planchard’s MedBand that she was in considerable distress.”
Gertie rose from the table. “Just get out. Leave me be. It’s my birthday, not that anyone cares, and I intend to have some cake, if I can find a stupid rideshare.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Stump, but your rideshare access has been suspended.”
“What?”
“Unfortunately, yes. And you have to have a score of twelve to qualify for the Civic Participation Bonus, so your retirement payments will be reduced by twelve percent beginning next month. And then there’s the matter of your involvement in the Hargrove Ladies’ Knitting Club.”
“What about it?”
“You’ve been removed.”
“But I’m a founding member!”
“Participation in associations is a privilege. You must uphold certain standards of social behavior. Your behavior, as evidenced by your Blurble score, is decidedly anti-social.”
"Is that why none of my friends and family are speaking to me?"
"I'm not sure I understand your meaning, Ms. Stump."
"You've got me pegged as an antisocial, and if they associate with me, their Blurble scores will suffer, is that it?"
"Ms. Stump," said Tim, "Blurble's mission is to facilitate relationship, not to prevent it. I'm afraid you'll find that if there is anyone coming in the way of your friendships, it's you."
“Oh, can it," said Gertie. "So free speech and freedom of association have gone down the toilets. Do I still have property rights?” Her voice shook.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you to leave several minutes ago, and yet here you still are.”
Tim started to go. He paused at the door. “Expect a further decrease in your Blurble score, Ms. Stump.”
“Hmph.”
Gertie slammed the door behind Tim.
Back in the little efficiency kitchen, she removed her coat and hat. She rooted around in the cupboard until she found a single plastic-wrapped chocolate snack cake. In the silverware drawer, she located a misshapen birthday candle and some matches. She prettied the plate as best she could, decorating it with petals from her potted begonia. She lit the candle and sang Happy Birthday to herself, trying to make her voice sound cheerful.
She was about to make a wish when the Home Assistant said, “You have a message.”
Was it from her great-nephew Arthur? Maybe he would drop by after work, and take her out to dinner. “Open it.”
Across the screen floated a bouquet of colorful balloons and a message:
“Happy Birthday, Gertrude C. Stump. Blurble hopes you enjoy your special day!”
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I know the episode they are referring to, because the basic premise is similar, social credit score totalitarianism. The BM Episode was more to the tune of anyone could get your score docked, maliciously. This is a cute story, if you have the opportunity, the episode of BM was an eerily relatable one.