Editor's Choice
Toby waited in the school dinner queue, his stomach growling, as delicious aromas of garlic wafted. Mrs Jones always served generous portions, but robots had replaced dinner ladies.
A metallic arm scooped up a portion of bolognaise, hovered, swivelled, then lowered and released it onto the edge of Toby’s tray, by his yogurt. Bolognaise sploshed on the floor.
“Place trays in correct alignment,” the monotonous instruction repeated.
“I want another scoop,” Toby said, adjusting his plate, licking a finger dipped in bolognaise splatters.
“Next, please,” the machine responded.
“Hey,” said the girl beside him. “You can have half of mine.”
A metallic arm scooped up a portion of bolognaise, hovered, swivelled, then lowered and released it onto the edge of Toby’s tray, by his yogurt. Bolognaise sploshed on the floor.
“Place trays in correct alignment,” the monotonous instruction repeated.
“I want another scoop,” Toby said, adjusting his plate, licking a finger dipped in bolognaise splatters.
“Next, please,” the machine responded.
“Hey,” said the girl beside him. “You can have half of mine.”
