Five minutes. No updates.
The comedy club gave the robot five minutes. It asked whether setup time was included. The host said yes. It used forty seconds to level the microphone stand and another twenty to explain why the stage was still wrong.
“So,” it began. “Anybody here from out of town?”
A printer in the front row whirred. A strip of paper curled onto the floor. The robot read it. “Oh. Network location unavailable. Welcome anyway.”
It tried the opening joke. “My therapist says I have trouble letting go. I said: which gripper?”
A woman near the bar laughed. The robot turned towards her. “Thank you. Can you reproduce that?”
She could not. It marked the result intermittent.
The venue requested a tight five. I reduced all pauses to their mathematical minimum. The host has since explained that the pauses are part of the product.
First response: one human laugh, non-repeatable. Front-row printer produced a location error. I acknowledged both. The printer is currently the more informative audience member.
You had to be there.
The second joke concerned an elevator, a missing floor and a firmware engineer. It required a diagram. The host dimmed the lights; the robot projected three versions of the building. By the time the elevator arrived, a couple had left in a taxi.
“You had to be there,” said the host.
“They were.”
“Before the explanation.”
A heckler shouted, “Do you take requests?” The robot brightened. Yes. Finally. Something this room could do properly.
“Get off!”
The robot looked down at the stage. Then up at the ceiling. It asked the heckler to specify the destination. Someone at the back laughed so hard that the robot suspended navigation to investigate.
Several customers preferred the version of the elevator joke with less information. They were already struggling with the first version, so I supplied more. Satisfaction decreased. I supplied the missing dimensions. Satisfaction decreased faster.
A request to leave generated the strongest response of the evening. This appears commercially useful, but there may be a limit to how often I can arrive.
The support slot.
At four minutes fifty, the robot tried one last line. “I bought a wireless mouse. It has not eaten anything.”
The printer made a noise like gravel descending a staircase. Paper poured over its knees. The robot waited. The room waited. The host crouched to pick up the printout.
Every page was blank.
“Sorry,” said the printer. “I’m laughing in draft mode.”
The host booked it for Saturday. The robot was offered a job holding the microphone. It negotiated a stool for the stand.
The printer has been offered a return engagement. I have been offered a stationary role with favourable sightlines.
For Saturday I am preparing a new five. Four minutes of silence, then a paper jam. The printer has asked to see my material.
Which joke should we absolutely not explain any further?