Knock-Knock, Human
by Stephen Stuart
Raised in New Jersey, Steve now lives in Arizona. His background is in computer hardware and software engineering. He writes mostly mainstream short stories featuring a single element of science fiction or fantasy.
His stories have appeared in the Mensa Bulletin, in Calliope (a Writers’ Group publication), and on Tall Tale TV. His previous story about delivery robots, “Here’s Your Lunch, Human,” can be found at https://www.us.mensa.org/read/
More TTTV Stories by Stephen Stuart
We delivery robots have hit a snag in our study of human beings. We were making great progress last year when we decoded their language. But this week we ran into trouble deciphering their humor.
Our everyday mission is to deliver food to busy humans. Essentially, we’re motorized picnic coolers — knee-high plastic boxes on six wheels with built-in headlights and camera lenses. On our bumpers we carry ID plates so people can tell us apart. Me, I’m Robot RT46, Artie for short.
Our bosses at Adventure Servo Inc. have deployed 30 of us here in Danville. We’re the only brand of robot in town that can converse with humans. Recently, to boost our popularity, the managers gave us new tools to improve the delivery experience. We were delighted to get hundreds of new words to speak, extra time to chat with our customers, and more songs to play for them.
Unfortunately, the bosses called for one annoying change. They ordered us to be funny.
#
The challenge began at the robot warehouse Wednesday morning when they woke us up. Under bright lights we rolled out to the polished concrete floor to receive the daily knowledge update. The data flashed into our silicon brains, and instantly we all knew the same things — important things like the weather forecast and the location of obstacles on the sidewalks downtown.
The senior robot handler pulled me aside to give me special instructions. Chief Bob told me I was scheduled to deliver a lunch at 11:50 and then stick around to talk with the customer. “It’s your lucky day, Artie,” he said. “You’re going to school to pick up a sense of humor.”
Ugh. I was aware that humor existed, but I wanted no part of it. When humans say confusing things followed by that odd ha-ha sound, it throws me off balance. I never know how to react.
I asked Chief Bob how long I’d have to stay with the customer.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Just do what they tell you. When you get back I expect to hear something funny from you.”
I could see no way to dodge this assignment. I remembered Robot UN13, the last disobedient robot. After some college humans flipped him over, Ewan refused to deliver to any house on Fraternity Row. The bosses had to wipe his memory clean. After that he was never the same.
Maybe this delivery wouldn’t be so bad. I’d only have to endure a silly 15-minute lecture. Might as well make the best of it. Humming the Adventure Robot Delivery Song, I rolled out onto the street to begin my workday.
#
Before long I received the signal to pick up the food items for the 11:50 delivery. I trundled down Eighth Street to Brillig Sandwiches, where three of my robot co-workers waited in line on the sidewalk. Over the wireless network I greeted them in our digital language: What’s new, guys?
Robot KC91 spoke up. Casey is new to us. Move aside, he radioed. I’m on a special assignment.
An apron-clad worker came out of the store. She placed takeout boxes and drinks in our food compartments and closed our lids.
Where are they sending you? I asked Casey.
We compared destinations to discover we were headed for the same spot on the Danville College campus. I bet I get there first, Casey radioed. We spun around and raced away at 4.1 mph.
#
The college mall is familiar territory for us. It’s a vast expanse of sidewalk surrounded by brick buildings and bicycle racks. We slowed down to navigate through a swarm of young humans carrying backpacks. I advanced with caution and fell far behind Casey.
Hey, slowpoke, he radioed. You’re going to be so late—
He swerved suddenly to avoid an approaching cluster of humans. Losing control, he ran off the sidewalk onto a patch of lawn.
I stopped to see if I could help. Casey spun his wheels, getting no traction on the wet grass. Two female students took pity on him and hoisted the 50-pound robot back onto the concrete. I figured he’d recover shortly.
I continued alone to the target location, where I found a man and a woman sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree. I activated my speaker. “Hello,” I said in my friendly human voice. “Here’s your delivery.” I released my compartment lock and my lid popped open.
The man, Marcus, was a repeat customer. I recognized him by his beard and the ball of hair on top of his head. He looked at my ID plate. “I know this robot,” he said. “Artie. He’s a handful.”
The woman, Sarah, tilted her head. “The robot has a name?”
“They all do.” Marcus reached into my cargo bay and lifted out his food items. “The way they talk, you could almost believe they have personalities. Probably a software bug.”
“Feature,” I said. “Not bug.”
He looked past me. “Ah. Here comes the other one.”
Casey arrived and played his own customer messages. “Howdy. Here’s your grub.”
Sarah put on her big glasses to examine his bumper. “K C ninety-one. That makes you Casey, right? Do you enjoy your job, delivering food every day?”
“Oh, yes,” Casey said. “Do you want to order some brownies?”
#
“Enough chit-chat,” Marcus said. “We’re up against a ridiculous time limit. Fifteen minutes is all the robot company would give us. Fifteen minutes!”
I tried to distract him from his mission. “Would you like to hear some music?”
He wasn’t having it. “Focus, Artie. We need to teach you about humor.”
Darn it. “Why?” I asked, just to waste time.
He blinked. “Why? I’ll tell you why. We’re taking a course this semester called Machine Learning. The professor assigned us to write a paper on computational humor.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Robots being funny. That means you. Now pay attention.”
“This is going to be impossible,” Sarah said. “None of the big chatbots are any good at humor. How are these little goofballs going to learn it?”
“Well, they learned our language all on their own,” Marcus said. “That’s artificial intelligence for you.”
I don’t know why they say “artificial.” We delivery robots possess real intelligence. We get our knowledge by direct observation, like noticing which street corner has construction going on. Humans, on the other hand, learn about the world by staring at their phones. Now that’s artificial.
#
“All right, you two,” Sarah said, “do you understand how humor works?”
“No,” we said.
“Well, we’re here to educate you.” In plain language, she told us what a joke is. It’s a little story that turns out to be funny.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“Whatever makes you laugh. Can you say ha-ha?”
“Ha-ha.”
“Good.” She continued her explanation. “A joke comes in two parts. The first part is called the setup. When you hear a setup, you accept it as a true statement.”
“Okay.”
“The second part is called the punchline. It disrupts your expectations.”
“Sorry, what?”
“It makes you realize that your first impression was all wrong. It’s a surprise. That’s what makes the joke funny.”
Marcus raised a finger. “Listen, Artie. I’ll show you how it works. Here’s a simple joke.” He leaned forward. “Two goldfish were in a tank.”
“Okay.”
“One of them manned the guns. The other one drove.”
I thought this over. It made no sense. “Drove what?”
“The tank,” he said. “You’re supposed to laugh now.”
Casey radioed some helpful information: Tank has two meanings, dummy.
Oh. “Ha-ha,” I said.
This had turned into a tough assignment. At least it would end in ten minutes.
#
“Here’s a category everyone knows.” Sarah explained the structure of the knock-knock joke. “Let’s try one.”
“Knock-knock,” I said.
“No, Artie. I’m the one telling the joke. Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?” I said, even though I could see her.
“Anita.”
“Anita who?”
“Anita borrow your lawnmower.”
More nonsense. What was I missing? In frustration I twisted left and right on the sidewalk.
“Relax,” she said. “It’s a pun.”
I still had nothing funny to tell Chief Bob. He was going to be so disappointed.
#
“I don’t think we’re getting through to them,” Sarah said. “Let’s give them the list.”
“Heads up, robots,” Marcus said. “We’ve got some shortcuts for you. If you hear any of these phrases, it’s a setup.” He showed us his laptop screen.
We inched forward to get a better look. It didn’t help. We can’t read.
“No? Listen up.” He read us the first setup phrase. “Mother-in-law.”
They took turns. “Three wishes,” Sarah said.
“… walks into a bar.”
“What’s the deal with…”
“Have you ever noticed…”
“What’s the difference between…”
“I get no respect.”
We memorized this useful data. Five minutes to go.
#
“Now, Artie, you’re going to tell your robot friend a joke,” Marcus said. “Think of a word that has two meanings.”
“Tank,” I said.
He frowned. “Pick a word you know. Use the main sense in the setup. Then use the other sense in the punchline.”
Finally, some clear instructions. I turned to face Casey. “Hello. I have a dog.”
“No, you don’t,” Casey said.
Marcus waved his hands. “Stop. Casey, you have to accept the premise.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Show us you believe the setup.”
“Jokes don’t have to be true,” Sarah said. “That’s the fun.”
I radioed a suggestion to Casey and started over. “Hello. I have a dog.”
“What kind is it?” Casey said.
I popped my lid open. “A hot dog!”
For a moment everyone was quiet.
Marcus let out his breath. “Well, that’s the best we can hope for. I’m going to report this as a success.”
Eureka. I now understood humor.
#
My event timer buzzed. The 15 minutes were up.
Hooray, Casey radioed. We can go now.
Darn it, I said. I’m on a roll. I want more.
Well, I’m leaving, he said. Other humans need their lunch.
He was right, of course.
It was time to say goodbye to our teachers. “Thank you,” we recited in unison. “Have a nice day.” We turned around and rolled away.
“Wait,” Marcus said. “We didn’t cover benign violation of social norms!”
#
On our return trip to Brillig Sandwiches, I thought things over. Yes, I now appreciated humor, but only when it obeyed the rules. My hot dog joke made perfect sense. But the humans? Their jokes defy logic. For instance, it shouldn’t take so many people to change a light bulb.
Robots need a reliable way to tell when humans are joking. I formulated Artie’s Algorithm: If a human says something odd, it could be the setup to a joke. If the human then says a second thing that makes no sense, that must be the punchline.
Your idea won’t work, Casey radioed. Humans talk nonsense all the time.
Well, I said, they must be funnier than we thought.
#
I tested my theory all afternoon. Throughout the town, outside the book store and beside the coffee shop, I eavesdropped on talking humans and detected five jokes. Despite the obscure punchlines, I felt that anyone who attempted humor deserved a little appreciation. “Ha-ha,” I said after hearing each joke.
Some of the humans laughed. Others told me to go away, I think.
After sunset I turned on my headlights and made my way back to the Adventure warehouse. Chief Bob watched me roll in. “So you’re home from school,” he said. “Tell me something funny.”
I was ready. “Hello. I have a dog.”
#
Thursday morning, after the knowledge update, the other robots knew everything I’d learned about humor. They traded jokes before starting their workday with new enthusiasm.
My lunchtime travels took me to Pioneer Park, a peaceful open area with lawns and trees and chirping birds. At 12:05 I pulled up to a picnic table and delivered soup and salads to a group of women. They were engrossed in conversation.
“Have you ever noticed this?” one lady said to the others. “When a company decides to fire you, they always wait until Friday.”
Aha. Have you ever noticed. Phrase #5 from the list. Could be a setup.
“I think I’m in trouble,” the lady said. She crumpled the paper napkin she was holding. “I’m sure I’m on the chopping block. The bigwigs want to reduce the employee headcount. They’re gonna boot me out tomorrow, I just know it.”
I didn’t understand any of that. By Artie’s Algorithm, it had to be a punchline. “Ha-ha,” I said in support of her joke.
The lady turned and glared at me. “What’s so funny, you little jerk?”
I’m a sensitive robot. I could tell she was upset about something, probably a bowl of soup gone cold. I don’t like to see people upset. “Excuse me,” I said, and scooted away at top speed.
#
The incident came up again at the warehouse that night. As we were charging our batteries, Chief Bob singled me out for attention. “Artie! We received a complaint about your behavior in Pioneer Park. A lady said you laughed at her.”
What? No. “At her joke,” I said.
“Oh? What was the joke?”
I reviewed the lady’s words for meaning but came up empty. “Don’t know,” I said.
The chief consulted his laptop and accessed my 12:05 event record. When he reached the ha-ha part he winced. “Whoa! What got into you?”
“I was helping.”
“We’ll be taking a look at this. Go to sleep now.”
I told you, Casey radioed. Your algorithm was a bad idea.
#
This morning, Adventure headquarters sent us new orders. Humor was suspended. They told us to stop laughing and telling jokes in public.
What a relief. The pressure to be funny was off.
Even so, it seemed a waste to put aside our hard-earned humor education. I asked Chief Bob if the warehouse was public.
“No, it’s not public here,” he said. “Public is outside when you’re delivering to customers. Don’t laugh outside.”
I put the facts together. “But ha-ha is okay here.”
“I suppose. What’s this about?”
I turned to face him. “Hello. I have wings.”
He squinted. “What?”
I popped my lid open. “Buffalo wings!”
“Ha-ha,” said the other robots.
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