In the not-so-distant future—January 2027— the air reeks everyday. Smog and smoke are our way of life here, and it is all our children will know. I am awake early enough to hear taxis hooting in the distance, but only because the neighbours emphysemic coughing kept me up all night. Just then: shouts erupted from the flat above me. “Who cut off the wifi?!” Ever since Palantir laid me off, I haven’t been able to pay for my Wi-Fi bill, and the broken lock on my door indicates that Telkom has finally come to collect the router ai paid for with PayJustNow. Stranger still, the LinkedIn notifications I receive through my Neuralink have been recommending my old role to me.
In the new age, electronic job applications are the default, however no one can find work this way since the ATS system rejects us before the recruiters do. At least I have R500 in my current account, enough for a new router, a data bundle or a Woolies avocado. Choices. To curb this, the government has decided to host “Bring Your CV” days at the Employment Offices where unemployed graduates are linked to suitable roles for them.
Mayor-Elect Hellen Zille has outsourced all menial tasks in her office to AI so all her staff can fit inside a microchip—including the custodians and the building security. She paid for CoPilot Premium for a more diverse AI staff because she was criticised when her previous AI staff all had white voices and names.
I tread carefully around potholes, debris and dog excrement towards the new Employment Services Centre. It’s situated in the dregs of town, where the grass does not grow since the land is inhospitable due to radiation. You may know it as Germiston.
Next to the sign that reads “Employment Office,” there is an illegal advertisement for the Moja Love show ‘Teenage Pregnancy!’ which the security guards are watching on a small Panasonic TV in the booth. They seem to be the only humans working in the place.
I walk in and I see giant tablets that are at the stations where normally a person would be seated. “Starlink or Raytheon?”, the automated voice says, its metallic voice was trained on Cassper Nyovest’s songs. The jobs are all from Elon Musk’s companies starting from when he bought South Africa in October of 2026. “Do you have any copywriting jobs?” I asked hopelessly. All these jobs are automated now, but I have no other marketable skills. “I will offer you an AI prompter job” the automated job system screeches, and I mosey on down to the grocery store. The place is barren—save for six full aisles of discounted KillBrady merch. Everyone panic-bought when the Weather Channel forecasted a nuclear winter— in January. I had enough savings to buy a single tomato; and I paid through my retina scan, which is connected to my Apple Pay, which is connected to Capitec, which is in turn connected to the government.
On my way home, I wondered if I could apply for SASSA and contemplated if UIF would sustain me. Betway billboards line the streets. The only thing stopping me from driving into it is the fact that I have no car anymore. It broke down, the tyres were stolen and I sold the remaining parts for rent money. After walking for 10 minutes, I see a park and in front of the entrance gate is an ugly statue of a malformed creature with a barrel chest and a face that looked like it was created on God’s day off. The placard reads “Welcome to Elon Musk Park”. Visitors pay R50 to enter. I was glad to finally see real trees again; they replaced the trees in town with holograms because people with pollen allergies complained. After watching an unskippable Neuralink advertisement, I watched the sunset, but my Eyesight subscription was unpaid, and thus it cut short just as the sun started to hide behind the trees.
Upon returning to my flat, I noticed there was no electricity and I had no money to reload the meter. After imagining myself taking a bath — there was also no running water, thanks Rand Water! — and so now I sit in silence in the dark, wondering when my government mandated AI training will start. Will the new job created by mass deportations be mine? Yes, job. There is only one job: AirBNB owner.
