The Humanity Equation – Part 1

I sat, frozen in place in front of my computer screen. My fingers were poised over the keys, ready to strike, and yet I was unable to move them. My mind raced in a whirlwind of furious energy as I tried, desperately, to comprehend what I was seeing.

It’s a spreadsheet. I know it’s a spreadsheet. I can see my name, Dan Arnold, up at the top of the screen. I can see the rows, and the columns, and all the labels on the little columns, and I can see the numbers. I can see the numbers. I can…

I could, in fact, see the numbers. They were there, in front of me, less than two feet from my face. I could see the curves and the straight lines. I could see decimal points and dollar signs. Figures were sprawled across the screen like seeds spread in fertile fields.

And I had no idea what any of them were.

Every time I looked at my screen, I could feel my brain stalling out. It was like walking up a flight of stairs and thinking it was one step longer than it really was. You put your foot down and it swishes through empty air. Your whole body reacts and for a brief second your mind is paralyzed by fear and your world stops for a heartbeat.. And then your foot lands, you laugh at yourself for your stupidity, and move on with your life.

Except my foot wasn’t landing.

The numbers had stopped meaning anything. I could look at one of them on my screen and physically I could see that it was there, but there was a hole in my brain stopping me from actually understanding it.

Three. That’s a three. It has curves. No straight lines. It means… it means there are… how many is 3?

I ran a hand through my hair and leaned back. It was then that I noticed the hush that had fallen across the room. There were some people on calls, but I watched them as they fell silent one by one.

Is it happening to everyone?

I saw a man’s head pop out from behind his desk and watched it’s rotation as he searched every inch of the room. I had no idea what he was hoping to find. Answers, maybe. Someone else who could convince him that he was dreaming, perhaps. I realized I probably looked just like he did, and sat back down.

I rolled my chair a bit to my right, and tapped Bryan on the shoulder.

“Hey, Bryan. You… having any trouble over there?”

Bryan twisted his head towards me, but his eyes remained fixed on his screen.

“A little, yeah” he said, softly.

We sat in the growing silence of our office for a few moments, saying nothing.

“I’m going to talk to Jim,” I said. Bryan nodded, and turned back towards his screen.

That made sense. Jim Anderson was our supervisor. Company policy always said that if we saw something we didn’t understand, we should speak with our supervisor. I wasn’t totally sure that company policy covered this particular scenario, but at least I had a plan now. It almost felt like I was standing on that top step, nice and steady, once again.

I stood up, leaving Bryan to ogle at his monitor, and walked over to Jim’s desk. It sat apart from the rest of the desks on the floor, with high cubicle walls over which he had pinned various memos and more than a few pictures of golden retrievers.

There’s no door, so I tap the wall as I poke my head in.

“Hey Jim, I think there’s something wrong with our computers.”

Jim’s ponderous weight swivels towards me on his roller chair. I see his laptop on the corner of his desk, closed. Probably hasn’t been opened for hours, given the disarray of printouts and papers covering his work space.

“Whaddya mean?” he said, with a look of consternation on his face. I didn’t know how to answer him, and I ended up just staring at him for a moment or two with my mouth agape.

“Maybe you’d better just come see, Jim.”

I started walking back towards my computer, and Jim followed on his chair, kicking the floor and scooting behind me. I was reminded that this was a man who took the elevator up the only floor in our building every day. I don’t think I’d ever seen him take the stairs even once in the three years I’d worked at the firm. Next to my desk, Brian was still staring at his screen with a blank look in his eyes. I wondered briefly if he had blinked in the minute or two I had stepped away.

Jim pulled himself up to the desk and glanced over the screen.

“I dunno, Dan, looks pretty… uh, it looks… Hm.”

I saw one or two people begin to watch what was taking place at my computer. Their heads popped out behind their short cubicle walls like prairie dogs on the lookout for danger. Jim turned back to me.

“Dan, did I hit my head on the way over here? I can’t tell a damn thing about this spreadsheet.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s happening to everyone.” I paused for a moment, considering my words carefully. “Everyone’s computers, I mean.”

“Are we being hacked?” asked an older woman who was part of the small throng which had gathered around my desk. The question was pondered for a few moments before someone piped up with an answer. To my surprise, it was Bryan, who had finally looked away from his computer.

“It’s not our computers,” he said, face sullen. He handed a paper to Jim, who held it up in front of his face. He scrutinized it for a minute, and the room went silent. I couldn’t see what was on the paper, but I could see Jim’s face, and I felt my heart sink.

Jim’s eyes bulged nearly out of his head. Small beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, which was rapidly turning a bright shade of red. He inhaled, as if he was about to make some sweeping statement, but it seemed to get caught in his throat. After a few more moments, he put the paper down, and steepled his fingers together.

I chanced a look down at the paper, to see what ominous fortunes it foretold. It was a printout of a billing statement. I could see each and every number in front of my eyes, printed on a physical object mere inches from my face, and I did not understand a single digit.

It was at that moment I knew, with a certainty, it wasn’t our computers that were having the problem. I also knew, with equal certainty, that human civilization as we know it was doomed.