"Now, what do you boys have to say for yourselves?"
Robot, Socks, Shannon, Mitch and Cubey were forced to sit hip-to-hip on the narrow, low-legged bench in the principal's office.
"Uh… it wasn't us?" said Mitch, breaking the silence.
"That's it? That's your best excuse for almost ruining a Rainbow prized award, in place since 1953?"
"But Principal Madman, it wasn't us!" Robot repeated Mitch's complaint. "We were set up!"
Madman shook his head. "Why do they always try that one? You four are going to pay for this." He leaned in close to their faces. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't call the police this instant."
"Principal Madman," Robot said, "I assure you that if you take the evidence to the police, you will find neither mine nor my companion's fingerprints anywhere on the remains of that treasured award."
"I would take that into consideration," Madman scowled, "If you had fingerprints to examine."
Robot looked down at his print-less fingers, sighing. Now there was no way to prove they didn't do it. But maybe he could come up with a way to bide the time until he could prove their innocence. "Isn't there any way we can make good for this without phoning the police?"
This was an interesting offer-an offer from Jones-that the principal had to think about. There could be something a lot more satisfying in it for him than having the boys hauled off to juvy. "Hmmm..."
Madman looked around the room, then his eyes fell to his desk.
"Ah-HA" He grabbed a small cardboard box off of the side of his desk. "I'm sure you boys are familiar with UNICEF, the global organization collecting money for needy children. The school has been advertising students to participate in the volunteer program on Halloween night for years, to no avail, and the school board has been laying on the pressure. However, since you boys are so… enthusiastic about this Halloween business, the four of you will go out on Trick or Treat night to gather donations for the cause, and set a good example for your peers."
"What?! You're making us Trick-or-Treat?" Socks said with bloodshot eyes.
"Show the seasonal spirit, won't you?" Madman sneered. "It is for a good cause, after all."
"Well, I hope you guys have fun with that," Shannon said, standing up and heading to the door, "Pam and I still need to pick out our party costumes-"
Madman raised his arm. "Not so fast, Ms. Westerburg. This concerns you just as well."
"What?!" She spun around, her mouth hanging open. "I didn't do anything!"
"I'm finding a peculiar pattern of your presence whenever the boys strike trouble, and I've never been a gender biased principal. You're going with them tomorrow night," he pointed at her.
She stomped her right foot on the ground. "But that's so unfair!"
"Well, I hope you have fun with that," Cubey teased, sticking his tongue out at her.
"Now, I can't force you five to go it as a group, that's your call. However, by Monday morning, I expect you all back here to pool your profits together and reach the total set by the district goal-Five hundred dollars."
"Five hundred dollars!" The five shouted.
"I think it will be a very educational experience," he smiled wickedly. "One that I may in fact instill next year on the entire eighth grade class—" he got down on his knee to meet their eye level—"IF you fail to meet my requirements. You're dismissed."
As soon as they left Madman's office, the complaints rang out.
"We can't seriously be doing this," said Mitch.
"How else are we supposed to get five hundred dollars to Madman by Monday morning?" asked Cubey.
"We can't go trick or treating, we'll be the laughing stocks of Polyneux!" exclaimed Mitch back..
"But how else are we supposed to get that money? I don't know about you, but all my allowance went to the arcade," Cubey said.
"Yeah, I'm broke, too," Socks said, pulling his pockets inside out.
"Me too," Mitch confessed.
"I am low on funds also," Robot said.
Then the boys all turned to Shannon. She narrowed her eyes. "What are you looking at me for? Do you think I get a five hundred dollar allowance?"
There was a pause. "Do you?" asked Cubey curiously.
"What-No!" Shannon shouted.
"Alright, alright," Socks got between them, "What if we asked our parents to help us out?"
"Are you crazy?" asked Cubey.
"After the last time I told my parents I got into trouble? I'd get grounded at the very mention of currency," said Robot.
"Same here. Parents, out," Mitch confirmed.
"So what do we supposed to do?" asked Shannon.
The four boys stood around and thought, while Shannon tapped her foot impatiently.
At last, Socks broke in. "What if we just did it?"
"What?"
"I mean, it'll only be a couple of hours, and-"
"A couple hours? Each house will only give us a couple of quarters, maybe a dollar if we're lucky? We'll be up all night knocking on doors!"
"Not if we use our good old special route," he winked at Mitch and Cubey, leaving Robot to ponder.
"Give it up, Socks," said Mitch.
"Yeah, come on," Cubey agreed, "Who in the seventh grade is gonna be trick-or-treating?"
"The ones who got little brother or sister to chaperone or something, that's who."
The boys grew quiet. "We were… really good at collecting candy." Mitch recalled.
"And we can get around faster with our bikes!" Socks insisted. Who actually says no to giving money to the needy when they come to your door? What have we go to lose?"
"Roger's party, that's what! His parents are out of town, and he's got a pool, dude! We'll be branded as the biggest losers in school if we don't make an appearance."
"We can't miss this party, dudes."
"Then we can't split up," Robot rationalized. "Assuming that every house is only willing to give us one donation…"
"If they give us anything," Mitch said.
"Yes, that's a given. We'll work as a team. Five of us will knock on the doors of five different houses at once—not at the same time. If we end up crossing houses, the people inside will just assume it's for a different group."
"That… that's actually smart."
"I'm in."
"Me too."
"Three."
"Shannon?"
She made a sour face. "Let's just hurry up and get to Roger's house faster," she said as she took one of the free cardboard donation boxes from the table outside Madman's office.
During passing period after lunch, Robot gazed at himself in the green tiled, boy's bathroom mirror by the cafeteria.
Data banks have collected so far that Halloween is represented by goblins, ghosts, and various other monsters and creatures from ancient and urban myths and folklore, he thought.
"Hmm..." he put a claw to his chin, "What would be a suitable costume for me?"
As he pondered and sifted through his memory banks for ideas, an abrupt squeak from behind Robot broke him from his reverie. He turned from the mirror, looking to the door, with surprise to discover it wavering in and out of the doorway, but no one had entered...
… or so he thought, until the sound of footsteps brought his eyes down to a shaggy, teddy bear soft haired little boy with deep blue eyes like the ocean. Approaching Robot slowly in a pink striped shirt and pair of blue overalls, the human held close to his stomach his tiny, bent fingers, and gazed at Robot with a wet, open mouth, blank expression.
Isn't that human too young to attend junior high school?
His timid disposition towards Robot told him that the human had never encountered him before, but surely, that couldn't be a new student. Although Robot couldn't talk—he was pretty short for his age, and he knew of quite a few humans students who were even shorter than he was. Few of them were even girls. However, Robot analyzed the chubby facial characteristics and soon determined that the child was so short, not because of a lack of growth spurts, but because it was a toddler.
Robot heard a mature female voice outside. "Oh, dear... oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear..." bringing his eyes back up to the door.
"Huey? Sweetie?" Closer to the door now, Robot recognized the voice well, "Huey, please come out!" Ms. Rucoat stuck her head into the boys room, her eyes squeezed shut with her hand over them. "Oh, please tell me there's no one in here."
"Ms. Rucoat?" Robot said.
"Robot Jones? Is everybody decent in there?
"It's only me, and... "Robot gazed at the small child oddly.
The English teacher slid into the bathroom alongside the wall, like a spy breaking in. "Oh, thank goodness, it's just you, Robot," she carefully lifted her hand from her eyes. "I was afraid I'd have to get Clancy to come in here for me."
"Excuse me, but if I might ask, who are you looking for?" he asked.
"Oh, it's 'Bring Your Child To Work' day at my son's preschool, and I lost track of him when I was getting his lunch. I thought I saw him wonder into here-" she opened her eyes by this time, and they fell on the small child. "There's my snooker pie!" the elated teacher cried."You had me worried there—Huey?" she said, suddenly frowning as she noticed the strength of his grip on her leg. "What's wrong?"
Robot assumed that something in the stall must have scared the child. It actually wasn't unusual for someone, a prankster, to leave something like a big rubber spider on the flush pole as a surprise for the next guy standing up to flush. Robot had found one of those himself once—a little mouse-but he knew automatically that it was fake, and he picked it up and took with him as a consolation prize, to think of something to do with them later.
Drop it into the air vents for the Yogmans to find, perhaps.
But as he traced the toddler's line of sight, he felt the sudden felt the weight of his metal chassis when he realized that the boy's fearful eyes were not on the stall, but on him.
The robot.
Apparently, the child's mother had noticed the same. Ms. Rucoat glanced at her son, then at Robot, then back at the toddler with the lethal grip on her calf. "Oh, no, no, no, Huey," She bent down to stroke his chin and the side of his face, "Robot Jones is a friendly robot."
Not daring to jeopardize that claim, with his feet nailed to the floor, Robot held up his artificial black hand and waved, a nervous smile on his face.
"See, he's nice," she said, having managed to pry the boy's hands from herself. He seemed to be relaxing.
Unfortunately for them, this was a false sign of hope. The little boy grimaced, his lips growing, bottom lip wobbling. Tears had formed in his eyes, a glossy sheen covering the whites.
And before either of them knew it, Huey was running to the exit, shoving his way past the legs of a tall seventh grade boy who had pushed open the door.
A teen who had just entered watched the scene unfold with bewilderment, his eyes suddenly landing on the teacher. "Whoa! Female in the men's room!" the youngster said, grabbing the handle and speeding out the door.
Ms. Rucoat came right after him, grabbing the door before it slid shut and standing in the doorway. "Huey! Huey, come back!" she threw her hand to her face and called down the hallway, but the child was and nearly gone. With a tired sigh, she dropped one of her arms and clung to the side of the doorway with the other. Just as she prepared to go after the toddler caught her attention and
Robot's face sulked, and he slowly tipped his head down as though he were a dog, caught doing a bad thing. "I... I'm sorry, I..."
The teacher, her hand pressed to her forehead, suddenly whipped her head around as she realized that this accident yielded two victims. "Oh, Robot, it's not your fault," she went up to him and sympathetically placed a hand on his shoulder, "You couldn't help it."
Hearing those exact words, in the order she put them, Robot gazed up at her, mouth open with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. at the usually rather caring of the human teacher's capability of insensitivity to him in this situation. She was really one of the nicer members of the faculty at the school to Robot—the kindest, probably. it stunned him that she could suddenly become so insensitive to him, like all the rest of the teachers. Even though she felt compelled to reassure the automaton of his innocence, Robot couldn't help but feel that it sounded more like the forced response of a teacher witness than a considerate adult who truly felt for him.
Ms. Rucoat picked up her lose, light autumn-print skirt and dashed from the boys room, leaving Robot at the sink with his back to the mirror where she found him.
The ignorant teacher's comment really didn't help. In fact, it set of a new train of thought—that last comment in particular contradicted her earlier claim that this accident wasn't his fault.
It was true. Robot had no control over how humans, of any ages, reacted to him. If they showed an irrational fear for him, it was perfectly normal—doing as normal humans did. Even if Robot purposely did nothing to encourage humans to be afraid of him, he still succeeded on the occasion to turn people away from him for the reason of how he looked, how he sounded, and whatever else made him him.
Robot had had some bad experience with younger children in the past, on the seldom times he saw them, but he still couldn't recall a time where he had scared a human so bad before. It was something different to run and scream—that happened nearly every day, but there was no doubt he would have remembered if he made a little child cry. The feeling was awful. It made him feel horrible and helpless, because he knew that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it except simply not be there.
She's right... I can't help it.
Head down, eyes tired, Robot marched to the door, retreated to the habitual self-assuring mindset-the one that tried to tell him how lucky he was to be a robot in an ape world-that made him feel isolated from the rest of the student body once again.
Up in the corner of the bathroom sat a small air vent, a pair of sickly, narrow yellow eyes pierced the darkness.
"Well... isn't that intriguing?" Rubbing his hands together, Lenny Yogman, who had been watching Robot from inside the air vent, chuckled wickedly. "Heh-heh-heh..."
When Robot got home later that day, he opened the front door and slipped in quietly. Usually, he'd give a shout to his parents to let them know he was home, but today he couldn't find the voice to project. Quietly, he slipped past the living room, only to encounter his mother in the hall on his way to the escalator.
"So, how was school today?" she asked.
"Alright."
"Any Data Logs to input?"
"Not today," he said, ignoring her gaze and starting up the elevator switch.
Mrs. Jones tipped her head to the right. "Is there something you would like to discuss, Little Robot?"
"Not really."
"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's bothering you."
"There is nothing bothering me," he said, acknowledging her with eye contact for the first time since he walked in, his lids narrow.
The female robot was growing impatient with her son's lack of respect. "Robot, do I have to get Jack in here to get you to talk?"
"Oh, lovely. Threaten me with the guy held together by staples."
"Robot-"
"Just don't even call me for dinner," he thundered up the elevator two steps at a time, not even waiting for it to take him
"Robot!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, surprised that Robot would take such a tone with her.
"And stop saying my name, just stop it!" he called down below before he rounded the corner and took to his bedroom.
Mrs. Jones was puzzled. She'd never seen him like this before. Mad and evasive, sure, but never this angry.
Once safely shut away in his room, Robot leaned against the door, folding his arms, a pout on his face. But when his face faltered, his knees gave way and he sank to the floor, perched on his legs, burying his face in his gloved palms.
Alone, Robot found a few peaceful moments to himself to think, but it wasn't long before Mrs. Jones was there. But for once, as opposed to whirling herself inside, she chose using the side of her pump to softly tap on the outside of his door. Like a regular mother.
"Robot, why won't you tell me what happened?"
Because you wouldn't get it, Robot thought miserably. You don't understand what it's like to associate with creatures that are afraid to look at you on a daily basis, even if they won't admit it.
"Won't you at least let me get you a refreshment?"
"I'm not thirsty," he replied. "Thank you." It was a lie. So much of a lie, actually, that his fuel tank make a thundering noise in protest. But he couldn't go out there and let her attempt to worm out the truth from him.
Mrs. Jones didn't reply. Didn't even say 'Okay,' or 'I will talk to you later.' Robot was surprised to just hear her roll away. He folded his arms, closed his eyes and sighed.
He knew some humans took to him and his parents with fear, but he didn't really realize up until that day just how bad the problem was. He knew from past experience that his family could make people duck behind desks and couches, even make next door neighbors move away, but to scare innocent little kids? It broke his heart at the thought that he could accomplish that so much easier than he'd once thought. It wasn't the same as scaring teens and adults, because even if he accidentally did something to scare them, he could still blame part of their fear of him on their own ignorance. Humans of a certain age should learn after meeting him that he meant absolutely no danger to anyone, and that even if he had his meltdowns, he was still a conscious, considerate being and because of that, he was perfectly harmless most of the time. But when he scared little human children who knew no better, who had no sense to know that Robot was a thoughtful creature that cared about how he affected the people around him and not just a self-moving piece of machinery, it didn't just embarrass him, it made him feel like a menace. A burden to society.
He picked up a teen magazine sitting on his floor-one he'd been using to absorb more information on human culture-which when he flipped to the back, contained an article on popular media related to Halloween. "Well, at least for one day, maybe I get to show the world that they are scarier things than me."
Minutes later, the door opened, without Robot's consent, and the Jones' reluctant, nosy and sloppy border bot, Jack, stuck his head inside. "Yo, you're mother said you were up here. Something up, cube-head?"
"Not anymore," Robot announced with a grin. "If you'd be willing to sport a small box around your chest and play mannequin for me."
We're getting into the mushy, feel-y territory here with Robot getting all sappy about his appearance. Maybe I went a little overboard describing the scene in the bathroom, but even now looking back on it, I still feel that Robot, for being a conscious creature and being as sensitive to how others treat him as he is, could still have insecurities about his looks and that would still keep his character intact.
One way of looking at why Robot eventually turns on the human race is how awful they make him feel as a kid, even if they don't mean to. Kinda like how Shannon makes him feel terrible, even if (in most cases), she doesn't intend to make him feel that way.
And this insecurity sub plot is leading up to something later in the story, so the sappy paragraphs do have a purpose.
Whatever Happened to Robot Jones? © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network
