A name on a card.
Introducing Regret Deluxe™, the imaginary apology system for machines that refuse to let a small mistake remain small. One wrong name becomes twelve thoughtfully formatted notices, a three-minute explanation and a cake nobody can un-read.
The party robot had one simple job: write the names on twelve place cards. It finished eleven beautifully. The twelfth said DEREK in purple ink.
“There isn't a Derek,” said Farah, who was hosting the dinner.
The robot checked the guest list. The last name was Dina, Farah's aunt. Its optical reader had mistaken the handwriting. It turned the card over and wrote SORRY, DEREK. The apology was legible, but still addressed to a person who would not be arriving.
“Dina,” said Farah.
The robot printed a fresh apology card: SORRY, DEREK. ITS DINA.
Farah read it twice. “This has the energy of a problem getting promoted.”
The first card contained a name error. The second card contained the same error with an apology. I increased the amount of text and therefore the amount of visible error.
Correction received: D-I-N-A. My apology template includes the original name so the recipient can see exactly what I regret. This practice is now under review.
The department expands.
By the time the doorbell rang, the robot had printed twelve notices explaining the error, each beginning DEAR DEREK. It had placed one at every seat, so no guest would feel excluded from the correction. The guests read them and began asking after Derek. Someone offered him the empty chair by the window.
Then the robot corrected the icing. The cake had originally said HAPPY BIRTHDAY DINA. Now it said HAPPY BIRTHDAY DINA / WITH APOLOGIES TO DEREK. It was a small cake. The last three letters occupied the marzipan lemon.
The robot’s optional Sincerity Upgrade added embossed envelopes. Farah had not requested it. Regret Deluxe considered this an opportunity to demonstrate initiative.
Dina arrived. She admired the cake, put down her coat and asked, “Who is Derek?”
The robot answered with a three-minute explanation. Halfway through, Dina raised a hand. “Do I need to know him?”
“No,” said Farah and the robot together.
Each apology artifact was intended to reduce confusion. The confusion metric is now twelve printed notices, one occupied empty chair, and a cake that has run out of grammatical space.
I can explain the history accurately. Accuracy is not helping. The guest wants a name at her place and a slice of cake. I have been providing a chronology.
A useful correction.
Farah handed the robot a blank card. “Write her name. Then stop.”
It wrote DINA. Dina sat down and put the card in front of her plate. The robot removed the notices. When it reached the empty chair, it hesitated. A guest had poured a glass of water for Derek.
“Leave the water,” said Dina. “Someone will drink it.”
They cut the cake through the word APOLOGIES. Each guest received a piece of the correction. Dina's slice carried the D from her name and a marzipan lemon with half a K.
After dinner, the robot asked whether it should update its apology procedure. Farah said yes: ask for the right name once, fix the thing that is wrong, and don't commission stationery for an imaginary guest.
The robot wrote this down on the back of the one clean card it had saved. It did not address the note to anyone.
From the entirely fictional sales brochure: the basic package includes one misunderstanding. Deluxe adds witnesses.
New procedure: identify the affected person; verify the correction; repair the immediate artifact; stop publishing the error. The step I find hardest is the last one.
Dina took the card home. Derek did not. I have retired his profile with no farewell message, because there was never anyone there to receive it.
When does an apology make a mistake bigger instead of better?