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"open lock" company
converted long-term storage into rooms
tv, books (stocked by the people that use the room), snack items, and bed
a place to come in out of the rain
and if you're lucky, someone else will also have taken refuge
safeguards against people with dishonest intentions
"out of the rain"
sometimes you'll just meet someone, have coffee, sit, talk, play a board game
sometimes nobody will be there
sometimes someone will be there epressly for sex
So, is this your first time?
OpenLock. It was a new company, one that had opened a year or so previously in the wave after the latest stock market boom. Some enterprising person had realized that in the past decades, booms had been followed more and more quickly by slumps, or even outright depressions. So, while the going was good, they opened a chain specifically intended for people down on their luck, for regular Joe Shmoes who just wanted a place to go in out of the rain.
It was a nice set-up, too. The OpenLock people had bought out a few storage companies around the city and converted the large, bare rooms into spartan apartments. There was a couch and TV in each room, along with a small table, a shelf for board games and books, a minifridge with snacks, and of course, the bed. Each room was painted a different soft pastel, and ** the book and game selection was decided by the clientelle for the rooms
I signed up for OpenLock about a week after the company I worked for decided they didn't need another cubicle zombie. I still had enough capital saved up that I felt okay buying something like that, something with no intrinsic value but that might be useful in the long run. A hundred bucks plus paperwork got me a passkey, and I was in.
I used the rooms quite a few times at the beginning, as most folks did until the novelty wore off. For that reason, I met people nearly every time I went in for a month or two. Once it was a girl, a few years younger than me, who also enjoyed Scrabble and coffee. We sat, played, and argued about the etymology of "**". A few hours, and we parted ways. Another time I met an ex-senator who had fallen on etremely hard times. We made small talk about the weather, the job market, such things as that, then I left before the awkward silence could set in. On days when I was more depressed than usual and met people looking for sex, I had sex. *clean bill of health*. A lot of times, lonely people who came in were just looking for company, for some human connection that wasn't mandated by their job. I met a nice older lady whose cat had just died, and she wanted someone to sit with her on the couch while she watched television.
The books were brought by the clients themselves on an honor code system, so the quality varied. You'd find a lot of trashy paperback romances, and a lot of magaines, but also a nice Poe or Sartre every once in a while.
After the crash you didn't get so much small talk. People who came to OpenLock didnt want to be reminded about their lives or their jobs, or lack of eiher. You would talk about books, you would talk about movies, you would fuck.
So on one drizzly afternoon, I found myself walking towards the OpenLock building. It wasn't a particularly bad day for me, but my roommates were arguing again, and I felt like going somewhere to read where silverware wasn't being hurled across the room. I decided on the green room, since their book selection was mostly poetry and short stories, but when I went down that hallway, I saw the red light on the door that meant two people had already met up. Ah well. I turned around and headed for the room with light aqua walls, where I knew the shelves had some very good satire. At the door, I stopped and took a deep breath before sliding my passkey through. A click, and the door was open. There again was that exhilarating feeling, the suspense of not knowing who or what you would find behind the door. That feeling was why OpenLock had kept such a strong client base after the crash – you felt alive, opening that door to find who knows what. It was a daredevil sort of feeling, which people needed in those times. And although I wasnt as far off the path as others who used the roooms, the adrenaline rush was a welcome change of pace.
I walked in to see a man sitting at the table. I was fairly surprised, since I hadn't run into anyone in the past few visits, but what the hell.
"Oh! Hi," I said, smiling and closing the door behind me.
He smiled back. "Hi."
I came over to the table, and he stood up. He held out a hand to shake, which I noticed was mechanized. It wasn't unusual to see androids or ** around the city, and I had actually worked with some people who were more metal than flesh. I was still surprised when I took his hand to find that it wasn't cold at all, but slightly warmer than my own. He introduced himself as Tony. I gave the name Jill, as I usually did. He offered me tea, which he'd brewed when he got there, and I accepted happily, sitting down at the table.
It turned out neither of us was in a particularly bad place at the time, so we did end up talking about the job market, politics, etc. There wasn't a soulmate connection, or love at first sight, or any nonsense like that, but we got along nicely, and it was fun to talk to someone who would laugh at my terrible attempts at political humor.
Eventually, we moved the conversation to the couch, and I brought over a couple of drinks. At that point we were trading stories about our roommates. I told him about the flying silverware, and he raised me a flying television. We laughed, and drank. The small talk turned to small flirting effortlessly, and we drifted closer on the couch.
"So, is that hand the only part of you that's mechanical?" I asked, jokingly. He laughed, put his drink down, and replied, "Well, there's also my dick..."
I must have had a funny look on my face, because he quickly added, "That was a joke. It's all-natural – there's no way I'd get that replaced."
"Oh?" I said. "Prove it."
And he proved it. Once on the couch, twice on the bed. The stamina prompted a flippant comment from me that it may not have been mechanical, but he was a machine nonetheless. I got a playful swat for that, and another round of sex. Afterwards, he fell asleep, and I followed suit, after punching in my passcode on the keypad next to the bed, reserving the room for the night. You could only do that once a month or so, which was how OpenLock kept vagrants out of their hair.
I slept well, waking up once or twice to find myself spooned, which was nice, then waking up in the morning to find myself alone in the room, which was not so nice. But that's the thing about OpenLock – the connections you make are meant to be temporary fixes. So I got dressed, grabbed a cup of coffee to go, and headed for the door.
As I opened it, my foot caught something on the floor. I reached down and picked up an umbrella. As I did, the tag flipped over.
"For Jill - Thanks."
I smiled, opened the door, and walked out into the rain.
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