“The truth is,” he said, “the truth is, I hate robots.” His breath reeked of the gin that sloshed over the edge of his glass.
“You know what I hate?” he asked.
“Robots?” I said.
“Robots,” he said. “Damn things take jobs away from hard-working people… I pay my taxes you know!”
“So do robots,” I pointed out.
He banged his glass on the counter. “S’not the same! They got no mouths to feed, what do they do with all that money?”
“Pay rent?” I said.
“Closets!” he shouted. “Stick a robot in a damn closet and it’s happy. What’s a closet cost, eh? How’s that help the economy?”
“What about mechanics?” I asked. “Repairs aren’t free.”
“Damn robots go to robot mechanics.” He swigged some gin. “Forget us what made them.”
“I hear some robots hang out at bars,” I said.
He stopped and glanced around the room. “You think?” he asked.
“I know.” I slowly spun my head in a complete circle.
I’d have a stiff rotor in the morning, but it was worth it to watch the guy drop his drink and bolt. Humans. Just typical.