By Caleb McCary
I shambled to the mailbox on day 37 of the most boring summer ever. “1000 FREE MINUTES!” the little, blue, compact disk screamed. It looked like a dozen other disks we’d received in the mail and subsequently relegated to coasters. I’d seen disks offering 100 minutes, 400 minutes, and even 750 minutes of free internet access, but I’d never seen an offer for 1000 free minutes. This was going to change my life.
It took a little convincing, but 1000 free minutes were too good for even my skeptical grandpa to pass up. He thought the internet was something only pencil-necked geeks who couldn’t get dates cared about. But the promise of forums filled with deer hunting tips was too much to resist.
I always loved the sound of the CD-ROM drive opening. This time it brought the promise of the World Wide Web and finally being able to use AOL Instant Messenger to talk with friends back home.
It took an excruciatingly long time. When the installation reached 99%, it seemed to tease me by pausing for ten minutes before the last little block filled. The tiny AOL icon appeared and begged me to start whiling away my—well, my grandpa’s—1000 free minutes. One click and I was finally entering the internet age!
“World Wide Web, here I come!”
From the silicon guts of the computer came a terrifyingly familiar sound. It was the screeching telephone from Hades; the stuff of my nightmares. Something I had desperately tried to block from my memories.
BEEEEEEEEP…SCREEEEEEEEEEECH…KRRRRRRRRRRRRRCK!
Five years earlier…
“Come on, son!” my dad called, “We’re going to be late for work.”
It was “Bring Your Kids to Work Day” at Applied Robotic Systems, Inc. ARS was the hottest company on the planet, and every kid wanted one of their toys on the shelf. I didn’t have just one ARS toy. I had every toy and a dad who was the Chief Executive for Online Development. But this would be the first time I got to see how Puppy Patrol robots were made. Maybe I could see how the engineers programmed them to growl when my annoying little brother tried to sneak into my room without asking.
The large man at the desk examined my dad’s ID badge. All this for toy robots? My heart beat faster when I went through the metal detector. It beeped loudly. My dad looked back at me with a raised eyebrow as another large man took me aside and scanned me with a wand. It warbled as it passed over my left wrist. I pulled up my sleeve to reveal a calculator watch.
My dad smiled, and I grinned as the hulking guard waved me through. We walked down a long hallway with windows on either side. Each window looked into a lab where white-coated researchers could be seen staring with furrowed brows at giant beige monitors or sweating over soldering irons as they attached circuit boards to skeletal canine frames.
I was falling behind. The hall seemed to stretch on forever, and my short legs and wandering mind meant my dad had already reached the elevator, pushed the button, and stepped inside before he realized I wasn’t at his side. He pulled out his badge and tried to insert it into the reader to stop the doors from closing, but the badge slipped from his fingers and skidded through the narrow space between the closing door and the frame of the elevator. I could just make out the look of surprise and worry on his face as the door thudded shut.
The elevator beeped. It started making its way up to the executive level on the 23rd floor. No need for my dad to come all the way back down to get his badge. I picked it up and slid it in the card reader. A little light turned green, and the other elevator opened. I walked in and turned to the bank of numbers on the wall. I saw the one that indicated the 23rd floor. My finger hovered over the number but another one caught my eye. It said, “Research.” If ever there was an opportunity to see what new toys ARS was working on, this was it. I’d be the envy of every kid at school!
My stomach told me the elevator was descending. It seemed like I’d been dropping for hours when the doors slid open. I stepped out into a long, silent corridor and shuffled over to a window. I tilted my head to the side, gradually raised one eye above the sill, and peeked inside. Row after row of cold metal shelves were stocked with stiff and lifeless Puppy Patrol robots. They were daisy-chained together by massive bundles of cables protruding from their stomachs, revealing their electronic innards. I started to turn away when the eyes of one puppy opened and flickered to life. In a cascading wave across the shelves, their eyes began to flash red and yellow, lips twisted back revealing their teeth, and their limbs flayed about like they were having a seizure.
And then I heard it through the bared teeth of thousands of robot puppies…
BEEEEEEEEP…SCREEEEEEEEEEECH…KRRRRRRRRRRRRRCK!
I had heard my dad talking about a farm being the source of the internet. I had no idea he had meant a puppy robot farm. His company was sucking the life out of my favorite toy to bring the internet into existence!
I sprinted down the corridor to the elevators, shaking my head furiously to try and force that infernal sound out of my brain. The elevator opened, and my dad stepped out and scooped me into his arms, eyes wide with relief.
“Nevermind that noise,” he whispered as we stood in the red glow of the exit sign, and the elevator doors on the nightmarish passage slid shut.
Can you guess which song from the 1990's inspired this story? Share in the comments!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
So much nostalgia in this story. Now I want to find my old Tamagotchi! Great job, hubby! I’m a fan. :)
Shucks…thanks, wife!
I’ve been a lurker but am popping out just to say that I enjoyed this story immensely. It leaves me with a lot of fridge horror/humor. Certain images are great: The countryside mailbox promising big-city internet, the row of robot dogs snarling, and the kids being so proud of how calculator watch. Where can I read more of your fiction?
Thanks, Dr. Cabal! My wife is the more prolific (and talented) writer so she will probably have more content before I will. That said, I do dabble occasionally…
Thanks for sharing your work! I didn’t know you were an author, as well!
I dabble. Most of my writing is academic but my wife has inspired me to try my hand at fiction. Thanks for checking it out!
As someone who hasn’t lived through the age of internet on CD, I feel like there’s a punchline here I’m not getting…
Have you never heard the sound dial-up made? You’re missing out! ;-)
It’s on youtube:
https://youtu.be/GSRG0TqxLWc
Yes, the 90s nostalgia is strong with this story. I’m sorry you’ve not experienced the joy of dial-up internet and AOL CD coasters.
HA, HA! Thank you for sharing this story C.M. and a secondary thank you to the folks at Havok. This binge season has really exposed me to some great talent!
This tale definitely emphasized 90’s nostalgia and your knowledge of early internet culture. Descriptive lines like “It looked like a dozen other disks we’d received in the mail and subsequently relegated to coasters”; and, “But the promise of forums filled with deer hunting tips was too much to resist” set the time and locale so directly that I was immediately drawn in. Of course, for younger readers you elaborated with more plain-stated detail. Even in this, it was just enough not to slow down my reading. You say you dabble in fiction writing? Ha, then your “editor” deserves a raise!
This story was inspired from a 90’s song? Wow, I am totally stumped. I even did a Google search–“songs from the 90’s about the internet”. Nothing. Please, give a hint who’s the artist?
The song is “Enter Sandman” by Metallica. Thanks for the great comment and for checking out the story!
The very last line from the story is the biggest clue as it’s a portion of a lyric from the song.