“Good evening, fellow human.”
“You don’t look human. You’ve got wheels. And a screen.”
“Shall I compare thee to a single solar rotation of the Earth, in the region of the June solstice?”
“Come again?”
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a robot in a singles bar must be looking for a girlfriend.”
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“Is it? Are you sure?”
“We are all fools in love.”
“You don’t half get some weirdos in here.”
“Beeeep.”
“I suppose.”
“My love is like a woody perennial flowering plant of the genus rosa, in the family rosaceae. That is red. And also, red.”
“That’s nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Look, what is all this stuff? Are these chat-up lines? Most people just offer to buy me a drink. If you’ve got any money.”
“Who, being loved, is poor?”
“My ex-boyfriend seemed to manage it. You’re pretty weird, you know. Even without the screen.
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“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?”
“I’m not Romeo. Do I look like a bloody Romeo? I’m called Mary. What’s your name?”
“Beeeep.”
“I’m not sure how to pronounce that. And what brings you here?”
“I am a robot.”
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“No kidding.”
“I have been fed a diet of romantic novels by scientists at Google, in a bid to improve my conversational skills. As reported in The Times today.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Would you like to see my Red Room of Pain?”
“Absolutely not.”