Commodity

It's estimated that the average person will see between 4,000 and 6,000 ads every day.

Wake up. Bleary eyes. Hoarse throat. Hair sticking out in all directions.

Barely able to move my legs; but move them I must. I sit up, swing my feet down to touch the floor, warmed to the perfect temperature.

Good morning! The voice says, in a faux cheery tone, its intonation the result of countless tests to see what best resonates with those just pulled from sleep. In response, I twist and contort my face to show some semblance of joviality. It’s fake — they know it and I know it — but that doesn’t matter.

“Good morning!” I say back, croaking through the frog in my throat. It’s unnatural, to be this cheerful right after waking up, but it has to be done. You grow used to it with each passing morning.

Time to awaken your energy, the voice says again, stand up and get moving!

On the blank wall in front of me is a hologram, projected to show a synthetic human moving from a sitting to a standing position. An animated loop that sometimes feels more authentic than me. I follow its actions and soon I’m standing, my weak legs supporting my weight.

A checkmark appears over the person. Action complete! Says the voice, with the little man vanishing from the wall at the same time.

I blink, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. After I open them now, I see the animation. It’s back, and this time, it’s showing the little person performing a star jump. Repeat after me! This is the voice again; I do as I’m told.

As I jump, the counter next to the little androgynous person climbs. One. Two. Three. Four. On the fifth jump, a burst of pixelated fireworks surrounds the number. Halfway there! Keep going!

I do keep going, completing the final five jumps. Then just as the voice tells me, I take a rest.

I sit back down, the bed creaks, and the sound of the latest branded jingle rings out through my tiny room. It’s a mix of notes – focus-grouped time after time to make it perfect – specifically crafted to get you in the mood to wake up and start the day. Plinky plonk, plonky plink. I’ve heard it hundreds of times. Can’t be long until a new one takes its place. It’s growing stale, fading to background noise, no longer effective.

Nothing quite as tasty as Ablaysi! The voice says again, matching the tone of the jingle, adding a little musical lilt to its pronunciation.

The little person, in all its projected glory, comes back. Now, it’s squatting. Like a game of Simon Says, I repeat its actions, watching the number climb again. One squat. Two squats.

Nice work! The voice tells me. Time to get ready for the day ahead!

As I leave the bedroom, the voice says to me: This wonderful morning was kindly sponsored by the good people at HandiTabs — the perfect solution for the morning blues.

HandiTabs. I could never afford them, but I could dream. I hear they’re how the rest of the world stops from going insane. One pill in the morning and things are a-ok! Choose sanity. Choose HandiTabs.

The bathroom now, it’s nothing but utility. Clean white floors bounce off clean white walls. The only splash of colour is blue; provided by the issued soap and toothpaste and flannel combo.

In the mirror, I see myself. The face that looks back at me is gaunt, it’s stretched. It has bags under its eyes like the luggage of a holidaymaker — fully packed and bursting at the seams. Can that really be me? It must be.

Next to my reflection, another projection materialises in the glass.

The holographic can floats in mid-air, its pixellated red glowing in the darkness. The signature white logo across the can is shining slightly. It spins, magically turning, the iconic slogan appearing below.

But then again, all slogans are iconic now. First thing in the morning; last thing at night. Brands are us; we are brands.

I get into the shower, savouring the jet of water raining down onto my body. Louder in here though, to not be drowned out, the voice says: Nothing wakes you up like DuoJet Water! Yours for only 340 credits a month. Say “order now” to level up your showering experience!

I don’t order now, and I know at some point that’s going to come back to bite me. Perhaps they’ll shut off my water. Perhaps it’ll only run cold. I don’t know. Sooner or later, I’ll have to add that small expense to my growing list of other small expenses.

The shower finished, I’m back in the bedroom, standing at my open closet.

Wardrobe looking tired? Says the voice, Refresh your look this winter season with EasyShop Premium. Say “Join EasyShop Premium” to start shopping the latest fashion trends.

I don’t join Premium. Instead, I reach in and pull out one of my many pairs of beige trousers. With those on, I pair it off with a beige shirt. Black socks and white trainers — regulation style — complete the look.

It’s not couture. It’s not in. It’s not branded. It’s the uniform of the objectors.

My morning routine is complete. I stand at the door to my apartment, staring at the printed plastic, wondering what printer in which factory put it together. Was this door number whatever in series whatever million? Who knows. I’d never know.

Absent-mindedly, I try to remember a time when the morning wasn’t scripted. When the world felt real, not sponsored by some brand looking to sell a product. When the voice wasn’t a constant companion. Did that time ever exist? There’s a vague notion in my mind, but nothing solid enough to grab onto.

Have a great day! The voice interrupts my thoughts. Its cheery tone seems to reprimand me, like it knows. It knows I hate it.

I’ve seen thirty-eight ads this morning, and I’ve not yet left my apartment. The average human will see ten thousand before the day is out.

Despite my trying, I always lose count around midday.