“The croissant maker is down again, ma’am,” the lady behind the register said.
“Damn it all to hell,” Elinor said. “I know it’s not your fault. I’ll have a cappuccino and grits melancholy instead.” Elinor stood straight and composed.
“Yep. Third time this week.”
“Might be time to put this one out to pasture.”
“Oh, it’s still got some life left in it.”
Franny, the name the croissant maker had given herself, didn’t feel tired. Maybe retirement would help with that.
She wasn’t sure how she’d like being turned off. What was the old subroutine she’d run when she was young and the sleep feature was too new to be certain? It started “now,” she remembered that part.
The man had unplugged most of Franny’s parts. She couldn’t feel the noise of the network anymore. What if someone wanted a … well, she’d forgotten what they always wanted out of her, but that was only natural from time to time. Especially when you reached Franny’s warranty date. Everything would be ok, wouldn’t it?
He unplugged her sensor board. That had happened before, but she was still scared.
“Now, I lay me down to …”