I work with a girl who was raised in a cave. Or maybe by robots. Yeah, definitely by robots.

Yesterday I was in the office kitchenette, telling a co-worker about the most recent and painful events of my life, when she walked in. (Maybe you shouldn't have been talking about your awful personal details in the office kitchenette, you say. You're probably right, I say. It won't happen again.) She grabbed a soda from the fridge and I lowered my voice and began talk in vague generalities. I don't want Robot Girl saving the painful events of my life in her Memory Cube, after all. But instead of realizing that we were obviously talking about something private -- something involving the words "broke up" and "told me it was never going to work out" and "cried myself to sleep last night" -- and excusing herself quietly, she instead walked over and planted herself in between us, sipping away at her Cactus Cooler (or is it Cactus Coolant?) and saying nothing. Just watching us.

The conversation ended for me at that moment. Though I appreciated the kind words of my non-robot co-worker, who began telling me a story about his own heartbreak and woe, the only thing I could think about was getting out of that kitchenette FAST. My eyes may have widened in disbelief the moment she walked over. I may have begun answering in grunts and gestures rather than words in an attempt to curtail the conversation. I may even have invented a fake task that I needed to get back to and almost ran out of the kitchenette. To tell you the truth, I really have no memory of the end of the encounter. Maybe my shock at the complete lack of social skills has wiped out my memory. Or maybe, just maybe, while she was standing next to me, calmly pouring soda into her Feeding Tube and recording our conversation via her Automated Voice Capture System, she somehow managed to sneak an electrode to my temple and wiped my slate clean.