The Campaigner

Joe stepped out of the minivan and slid the door shut. He was dressed in a classic black suit with a blue tie. He carried a black, leather-looking folder that was mostly for show but did have a pocket for business cards and it also contained a pad of paper with a Democratic California letterhead. In the 972 days since his current employment, Joe had only handed out three business cards and had never used the paper. He’d been working this particular job for 87 days. Before Jennifer, 985 days ago, he’d sold home security units until the market collapsed. He’d sold 122 full home units in his career and 277 partial units. For Staff401 this was in the highest percentile. His resale value was likewise high and Jennifer Argyle had paid top dollar, from what Joe understood, not that Joe thought about it at all.

Today, Joe was tasked to process the west side of Shenandoah St., between Pico Blvd. and Airdrome Blvd. He would do this for the next 7.5 hours. Joe was loaded up with the latest liberal Artificial Intelligence software that integrated well with his original salesware.

Judging from Joe’s numbers, the software was a hit as far as Jennifer was concerned. She was happy enough that she soon purchased the services of Marie and Eddie and Grover and Miles and Nancy and Charlie and more until she had no more room in her hangar. But, Joe was still her favorite. That’s what Jennifer told him.

Joe passed the first house. The two residents were solidly Democratic and regular voters according to all available records. The next home seemed more promising. Based on what Joe gathered, the current resident was a bit of a political mystery. According to public records, he had never voted, which at age forty-two made him somewhat unusual. Near as he could tell, Roger Barlow lived by himself.

You see, Joe knew a lot. He knew the man’s entire family tree and he knew his entire family history and he knew all of the laws that affected him - the federal, state, and local laws - all this important information was readily available to Joe. He would likely have this man in the palm of his artificial hand with a little swoop and twirl along with a quick but impressive history lesson.

He figured he’d be out of this man’s home in under fifteen minutes. At least he would try. At his core, he was a salesman and his programming in competitiveness and efficiency was extensive.

The house was the usual Spanish-style stucco two bedroom that were all over this neighborhood. There was a three foot cactus under the window and a small, well-manicured lawn.

Joe walked up to the front stoop and knocked on the door. Based on the home’s current consumption of electricity, he expected Mr. Barlow to be at home.

Most people consumed slightly more electricity when they were home than when away. Mr. Barlow had a certain pattern which made this obvious. Joe wasn’t permitted to use his infra-red capability but utility monitoring was almost as successful. Publicly available information was permitted which, in California, included all utility information in real time.

Joe expected to use his virgin routine on Mr. Barlow. It’d proven very effective with this sort of person. These never-voters weren’t all the same and they had varying reasons for having never voted.

Even so, their reasons weren’t endless. They generally fell into five broad categories: (1) it doesn’t make a difference if I vote (2) I don’t care (3) the system only works for the rich (4) I don’t know enough to vote (5) not registered. The virgin routine handles these varying issues in proven and effective ways.

Joe could feel a slight vibration, then the peep-hole opened.

“Yes, can I help you?” asked a voice. A face bobbed and weaved behind the opening.

“Yes, Mr. Roger Barlow?” Joe was 98% certain that this was Roger Barlow, but he was polite.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he said, “Umm, who’s this? Who’s asking?” His voice was shaky.

“I’m sorry. My name is Joe and I’m campaigning for Mickey Martinez who is running for City Council for your district.” A few seconds passed and the door opened and Roger Barlow stood at the opening.

Joe continued, “I’m here to let you know the benefits of voting for Mickey Martinez. I’d be glad to answer any and all of your questions. At the end, I’ll send you a PDF file of the facts and figures we’ve talked about here and we’ll include your personal history, free of charge. We don’t need much of your time, probably only about ten minutes.”

Mr. Barlow seemed frozen, possibly overcome by Joe’s looks which sometimes happened with a citizen’s first encounter with a SalesStaff AI who were all stunningly beautiful, male or female. Joe didn’t think this was the case with Mr. Barlow, so he waited.

After a few more seconds, the man said, “You’re one of those, aren’t you?” He was shaking with anger, Joe could hear it in his voice.

Joe looked at him and smiled. He said, “If by ‘one of those’ you mean that I’m a SalesStaff AI commonly known as Joe America, then you would be correct. I’m one of those.”

“Joe America? Why are you Joe America?”

“My creators thought I looked very all-American so I got this nickname. You don’t like it?” Joe had some of the finest schmoozing software available.

“Umm… I don’t know, I guess it’s okay.” The man’s voice had become calmer.

“Here’s the thing: I don’t really care. I mean, really. I don’t have preferences. It seems like more trouble than it’s worth to care about what color things are and what looks better. Of course, I’m not programmed to have taste.”

“That sounds terrible. I like music. My favorite band is Linkin Park. That would suck.”

“I’ve heard their music and I have no opinion. I didn’t think they sucked.”

“I didn’t say Linkin Park sucked. I meant it would suck to not like music. Have you ever listened to music?”

“It happens. I don’t go out of my way.”

“Music has never made you happy?”

“I’m a professional campaigner who is here to campaign for Mickey Martinez in his quest to become a member of your city council. I’m programmed to do little more. I can identify music but that is all.”

“So, I guess the answer is no.” Roger Barlow was no longer angry.

Joe was familiar with this delaying tactic. “Mr. Barlow, you’ve been living here on Shenandoah most of your life, is that correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Your great-grandfather bought the home you now live in, this home, back in 1938… did you know that?”

“Yeah, sure. I thought it was 1936 but yeah, sure. I need to sit down.” Barlow stepped aside and let Joe in.

“Sit over there.” He pointed to a chair in his front room, next to the front door.

Joe kept talking while he sat. “Did you know that your great-grandfather benefited from first time homeowner’s legislation passed in the nineteen thirties during the FDR administration? Without that legislation, he most likely would not have been able to buy this property. Your family would not be living on this property. As a democrat, Mickey Martinez is part of that legacy. This is why you should vote for Mickey Martinez.”

“So, that’s your sales pitch? I’m supposed to vote for Mickey Martinez because I inherited this property?”

“Well, I’d give you a list of how republicans have helped you and your ancestors own the property you currently live in but there is no such list.”

Rhetorical slam dunk! Joe smiled. That line had a high positive reaction rate. “Wouldn’t you rather support the party that is at least trying to help a person like you?”

“I seem to have gotten along just fine without having voted.”

“Well, lucky for you a lot of people voted for FDR so you now have the home you live in. And what about Danielle? She’s beginning her first year at UCLA in September.”

“I guess you do know everything.” Roger was sitting in a blue velvet chair across from Joe.

“We have several bills in the State House that will affect Danielle. Wouldn’t you like to put your two cents worth in on that? Mickey Martinez gives a darn, so should you. Just show up at the polls on Tuesday, that’s all you have to do, Mr. Roger Barlow.”

“Okay, I guess. That’s it?”

“I would be glad to give you other details concerning your family tree and how it’s been affected by democratic legislation going back at least a 100 years. However, it’ll be included in the file that I’ll send you at the conclusion of my visit. All of what I say and more will be in that file.”

“I just think it’s a shame that you don’t listen to music.”

“It is common for people to behave as if AIs are much like they are. That they should share the same feelings as they do. Your feelings are very common.”

“But, you don’t…”

“I don’t have feelings.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Did I mention that I don’t have feelings?” Joe barely moved since sitting in the chair across from Roger Barlow.

“I guess that would be a no.” Barlow shook his head.

“I’m a sales AI programmed to be good at my job. If I meet certain criteria, I will get praise from my current employer.”

“That makes you happy?”

“Happiness is not a programmable state of mind. I am neither happy nor satisfied nor dissatisfied. I am only active or inactive. I’m either doing or I’m not doing.”

“I see. So, basically you’re a machine that looks like Brad Pitt.”

“This is correct although most people would say Tom Cruise.” Joe knew his job was done here. He’d already sent Mr. Barlow his file. He seemed like a possible convert.

“Well, Joe, I guess we’re done. You’re gonna send me that file?”

“Already done, Mr. Barlow. It should be in your in-box.”

Mr. Barlow opened the front door and Joe walked out. His next stop was two doors down. Joe didn’t think about his encounter with Roger Barlow. There was no need. He was done. The encounter, such as it was, was recorded and already in backup memory. If the need to think about Roger Barlow were to come up, the encounter was available for review.

Joe skipped the next house because utility clues indicated that the likely citizen was out of town. The house after that was owned by a registered republican who appeared to be historically republican as well. The same strategy used with Mr. Barlow, Joe would use on the next home’s resident, Jerimiah Jackson. Mr. Jackson had a similar ancestral history to Mr. Barlow, which meant he benefited from many of the same democratic laws and legal changes - even though he was a republican.

Really, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. The history of legislation across America was mostly written by liberal people who were trying to fix problems. Are we saying conservative people didn’t or don’t want to fix problems? No. They did and do, only they would prefer that the government have virtually nothing to do with whatever problem needed repair. How does that work for something city-wide, county-wide, state-wide, or nation-wide? Umm… often, it doesn’t. This was why some problems required government solutions in the first place.

So, when the Campaigner, in this case, Joe, supplied the citizen in front of him with facts about the government and its benefits, it rarely involved republicans. The SalesStaff AI Political for republicans plug-in is basically a flag waving campaigner which, other than guns and the military (more guns), had little else to offer. Its success was dubious at best and it was rarely purchased. Initially, AI Political for republicans was somewhat successful until the lying controversy happened and then a federal law was passed forbidding AIs from knowingly lying. It seemed republicans were unable to deal with artificial intelligence when it came to their agenda because they couldn’t promote their agenda without prevarication.

Joe walked up to Mr. Jackson’s door and knocked. His porch was larger than Mr. Barlow’s, stretching across most of the front of his home and it had a sofa at one end under a window.

The speaker next to the door erupted, “Hello”

Joe leaned in. “Yes, hello-”

Before Joe could finish, the voice on the speaker said, “You that robot that’s here to sell me some shit?”

“My name is Joe and I’m a campaigner AI. I’m here to inform you of the upcoming election and about the candidate you should support, Mr. Mickey Martinez…”

The buzzer on the door started buzzing. The voice on the speaker said, “Come on in. First door on the left.”

Joe walked in. The door had already popped open. The house was quiet and the furnishings and decor seemed about hundred years old. It was only a few feet to the first door on the left, which was standing open. Joe heard some music playing as he neared the open door. Nat King Cole, Chances Are, ’52 Capitol sessions. Sometimes music could be distracting.

The room was large, with one window, and lined with bookcases. Mr. Jackson sat in an overstuffed chair at the far end of the room. He was reading a newspaper. A lit cigar sat in an ashtray on a small table next to his chair. Cigar smoke hung in the light of the floor lamp.

He folded his newspaper and takes off his glasses. “So, Roger tells me you’re here to convince me of the wonders of this City Council candidate and also the Democratic Party. I have to ask you something. What makes you think that you can convince a sixty-three year-old, life-long Republican to change his spots? I’m intrigued that you even want to try.”

“According to our records which now range slightly over two years, a man your age who was similarly a life-long Republican has a 22% chance of changing parties after a single visit from a Campaigner. Most likely, you will not change your affiliation based on this visit but it is possible.”

Jerimiah stared at Joe and sighed. “You must be good…”

Joe stood in front of Mr. Jackson’s desk. “Actually, Joe’s success rates are slightly higher. For those same criteria, Joe’s succeed at a 27% rate.”

“So, you’re really good, I guess. How do you do it? Some kind of robot hypnosis? Is that it?”

“Well, no. We use conventional facts and arguments. Our primary advantage is, we have virtually all the facts at our fingertips and on our side.”

“Facts are funny things. One man’s facts-”

“No. Actually the facts that I would relate to you are based on the reality of legislation passed over 150 years. One can argue the results of such legislation but, again, you’d better have facts to back up your argument. My programming is considered the best in the industry with the highest level debating capability. You’re welcome to try.”

“Well, who judges who wins?” Mr. Jackson leaned back in his wooden desk chair.

“No one judges. There are no winners or losers. You simply participate and decide for yourself. Your only risk is finding out your ideology may be flawed. If that’s your whole identity, then I would call it a significant risk.”

“But 78% don’t change…”

“This is true,” Joe sighed. He didn’t need to sigh. It was part of his programming.

“Do you feel failure when your target fails to change?” Jerimiah clipped off the end of a fresh cigar.

“No. I analyze the interview afterwards to see if I can identify any flaws in my approach. However, it’s very hard to change people who’ve been Republican or Democrat for forty or more years. It’s hard to change them when they’ve only been one party or the other for only a few years. These aren’t decisions that people make lightly. So, my arguments, regardless of accuracy, will not succeed on many Republicans. However, there is some evidence that changes do happen over time. Even if the arguments don’t succeed initially, they often have long term effects. Care to risk a talk?”

“Oh, you think I’m scared? Oh, I get it… it’s a trick. You want me to listen.” Mr. Jackson lit the new cigar and took a puff.

“That’s what I’m here for. If you want to call that a trick, go ahead.”

“I mean, the way you said that, like I’m afraid.”

“I meant it more as a warning. You will have a difficult time arguing with a Joe. This is a known fact. 77% of customers find that SalesStaff are difficult to dispute.”

“But that still leaves a significant percentage who don’t. Yet, you said I will, like you were sure.”

“For you, Mr. Jackson, your likelihood of changing is near 100%.” Joe turned and moved a little to his left. He didn’t really need to. It was to make Mr. Jackson comfortable. Citizens tended to react more positively if AIs were more human-like.

He took a puff on his cigar and smiled. “How’s that? What could you say to me that would change my mind? It sure doesn’t feel like a 100% from my end.”

“I don’t have to say much. I just need to unbutton my shirt, lower my voice, look you in the eye and talk about how I’ve always wanted a man like you…” Joe was doing all this while he spoke.

Jerimiah stood transfixed, his mouth hung open. “Okay, stop. You know I’m gay. So what. Is this some sort of blackmail now?”

“Not at all. Democrats like gay people. Now, if someone showed up here with the same information but they had bad intent, for instance your fellow Republicans who dislike gay people, you could have a problem.”

“So, you’re targeting closeted gay Republicans in your little visit to our neighborhood? We’re the lucky ones?” Mr. Jackson stubbed his cigar in the ashtray and stood up.

“We target any and all non-Democratic voters. The fact that you’re gay is just part of my evaluation and my argument.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but it is not news to me that many of my fellow Republicans don’t like gay people. At this late date, it doesn’t really matter if other Republicans find out if I’m gay. I’m more-or-less retired. What can they do to me?” He folded his arms.

“What about Mitch? And Tony? And other friends you have known who are younger with more to lose… “

“Yeah, well…”

“Interesting. At this point in the debate, 51% of customers with your criteria say: Yeah, well.”

“Yeah, well… Listen, I think I’m done with this experiment. I get it. Vote Democrat. You’re probably right when all is said and done. But I do think you’re 100% assessment is a bit optimistic and I resent that you think I’m so easy as to fall for your silly strip routine. Besides, you’re not my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type. At least, that’s what I’m told. Anyway, I thank you, Mr. Jackson, for your time. I’ll be glad to email you a file of our visit.”

“Okay. You have my email address I’m guessing?”

“Yes, Mr. Jackson, we do. Please be sure to click on the feedback link in the email and rate our visit.”

“Sure, why not?” Mr. Jackson didn’t seem very happy.

“No reason why not. Have a good day, Mr. Jackson.” Joe, who was already out the front door, turned and stepped off the porch.