What your day will be like in 2039 (Mostly Pessimistic Version)
A vision of the future, good and bad
This post is one of two — both painting a vision of a day in your life, 20 years from now, in 2039. One post is mostly optimistic, you can read it here. The second (this one) is mostly pessimistic. Both are of course completely subjective — some of the ideas contained may delight or horrify you in equal measures, or not at all. I’d love you to let me know what you think after you’ve read both.
Mostly Pessimistic
6 am
The default personal assistant wakes you with your favourite sports podcast, The Bill Simmons show playing on your Samsung G-Glasses beside your bunk; you smile as you hear him boast about the Pats once again. You used to listen to the radio but most stations have shut down since people stopped driving — once they could do more than just listen, other media took over. Driverless cars killed the radio star was the joke told way too often.
Breakfast is an all-in-one smoothie that contains all your daily nutritional needs in one horrendously tasting glass. 7 portions costs almost a quarter of your weekly wage but you always make sure you buy them before the rest of your money is quickly spent.
7 am
You leave your single room unit before the sun rises, stepping out on the city street as countless others hustle past, likely heading to their first job of the day, just like you. You head to the underground, the gate opening as you approach with a corresponding beep from your glasses. Minutes later, you stand crammed in the carriage as it hurtles down the tunnels to the industrial zones.
Most people are staring either at the floor or the ceiling, trying to find a bit of room into which they can place their virtual displays. You’re proof-reading an article you’re writing for a virtual magazine about the likelihood of major political or military conflicts in Europe. Ever since Hungary and Poland left the European Union, the probability of twentieth century style continental wars were more likely, something your dual history and journalism degrees made you ideally suited to write about.
The carriage comes to a halt and you dismiss the article, you’ll need to finish your shift in the vertical farms before returning to it. Journalism may be your calling, but it will never pay the rent.
11:30 am
You pause as you climb higher in the dense vegetation, trying to check your messages to see if your parents received the money you sent, but all you hear are error sounds. You tap your glasses in annoyance at the lack of signal but you suspect the company has installed blockers to boost staff performance.
You shrug, it could be worse — you’ve heard rumours that the company will soon be trialling automated robots to replace the human staff. Some of your colleagues laugh it off, saying that there’s no way robots can be cheaper than the minimum wage they are all on, but you aren’t so sure. You remember when fast-food restaurants used to have human staff — people thought they were paid too little to replace, but the last time you had a double-cheeseburger made by a human was about 15 years ago.
1:00 pm
You stand outside the factory, looking across the narrow road to another factory, its bare walls perfect for your virtual displays. You read about the latest breakdown in the Iran-Israel ceasefire, then about the wildfires in California that are threatening Disneyland. The entire resort has been evacuated, with your glasses serving up nightmarish scenes of orange hued skies and scared tourists.
When you sold an article last year about the Netherland’s move to far-right politics, you spent nearly all your payment on a virtual trip to Disneyland, one that you visit again and again in your living unit. You hope of course to go in person one day, but wonder if the near desert-like climate in California will mean only Florida and Paris will be open. Since China closed its borders during their Internal Troubles, the Hong Kong parks have been shut also.
The factory klaxon calls out and you wave away the newsfeeds, heading back to the fruit and vegetables that need your attention.
6:00 pm
You have an hour before your shift in the bar starts and you call up the free coding program you found in the virtual web. You’re halfway through Introduction to Virtual Design and while it’s a struggle you still think it may be your best shot at a better job.
When you left university you thought that you had two great career options — but the relentless improvement and evolving of Artificial Intelligence soon made both teaching and writing the providence of computers. Your former major— Western Politics — is now being thought by an AI program called Winston, and even a trained journalist like you can struggle to tell the difference between anything written by computers or people.
As the real Winston once said however “It is time to dare and endure” — you will try become one of the engineers you serve each night in the bar, listening to their animated conversations about what next they hope to automate.
11:30 pm
You walk back to your unit, rubbing your eyes and wondering whether to ditch the programming course. A particularly drunk engineer had pulled out his MacBook to show off something he probably shouldn’t have — a new Google AI program that can write any program you ask it to. Before you had left the bar, your news feeds were already mentioning it, news of the leak travelling fast across the virtual web.
You call up some new online courses, the Introduction to Automating Artificial Intelligence looks interesting.
