On December 5th, 2016 in Quibbles
People rarely see Taylor Doosey these days. In person anyway, his face was all over the town: the welcome sign, the self-checkouts, the banners.
A little Doosey even scowls at you from the only parking meter he installed on the main street.
Even though he wasn’t around he was always present. He held a telecast Town Hall every week on the giant screen which replaced the Gazebo (any other public assembly is outlawed). It was their primary source of entertainment and information these days.
News of the outside was scarce. Not even new entertainment got into town. The Gilmore’s library of nearly everything printed and recorded in the twentieth century provided some relief for a while, but most of it was burned over the course of several summer-evening bonfires.
Even tourists weren’t much help. The guests that stayed at the Doosey-Fly Inn, a state sanctioned vacation spot, usually didn’t mix with locals
Much of the day to day hasn’t changed. Townies still went about their business, Miss Patty taught dances for upcoming Doosey Day festivals, and Lane’s band was practicing in Lorelai’s garage once again to avoid Taylor’s microphones.
You noticed it in the little thing, though. Like the coffee. Coffee was sparse and now being reserved for tourists.
“You can’t have a quaint New England holiday if you’re missing your coffee, can you, Lorelai?” Taylor was arguing with her from the views screen in the inn’s foyer. It was one of the many view screens he had installed around the town.
“But, then it’s settled.” He looked about to disconnected when something caught his attention behind her. “You’ll need to fix your banister.”
“Taylor there is nothing wrong with my banister.” She knocked on it made a small gesture as if to say “ta-da”. “See, solid. Such good wood it could be an ad for Viagra.”
He scowled. “I’ll send my Cleaning Crew, then.”
Hey eyes widened, the last time they sent the cleaning crew was the last time she’d ever seen Michel roll his eyes. Now he just sits at the front desk in silence. He ansers the phones, takes names, and then sits in silence waiting for the next call, staring blankly at the floral pattern on the walls.
“If you’re going to be negligent…”
“I’ll fix it.”
“It’s fine, they have room in their schedule.” He was gone.
Lorelai went to clean up the dining room. Sometimes, when she was feeling bold, she’d drink the half finished cups of cold coffee her guests left while she was off camera during the walk between rooms.
She took a drink now, the buzz made her feel good. Made her feel something at all.
In the kitchen, she stared at the oven Sookie installed when they first opened the inn. Like the town, it looked spotless.
It hadn’t work properly in years.
She walked through the kitchen, running her hand across the counter. How did it come to this?
It started with the town WiFi. No one objected to town wide internet, but no one read the EULA either. The digital checkouts for every store were next. Followed by cameras in the park to fight vandalism.
They seemed harmless. Taylor was bringing Stars Hollow into the 21st century, they thought. It was a nice change from his usual antiquated outlook. But though the leading edge is a liberal shield, it is also a conservative sword.
There was some push back on the town WiFi replacing home networks, but not enough. The real fight came over cameras being put in people’s yards and homes.
The man was a relentless canvasser, even at his advanced age. The constant phone calls, the clipboard in your face while walking down the street, the 1 a.m. knocks on your door. How many people signed away their rights in delirium?
So, Taylor eventually got his way, he always does. It wasn’t hard once the State took over, there would be no higher authority to go around him and appeal to. Though, there was still some resistance.
Luke was the rallying point of the opposition, but it didn’t last. It died with him outside his diner. His truck was accidentally left in neutral while unloading supplies and the combination crushed him.
That’s the story, anyway. There was a temporary outage of the town network that morning and, despite all the cameras, no footage was captured.
The kitchen lights went out. The business day was over and she’d have to start heading home, curfew was sundown.
“It’s not all bad,” she thought, “At least I don’t have to go to Friday night dinners.” She stared through the dark kitchen at the empty coffee maker and wondered which dirty secret the State would dig up on Emily Gilmore to justify taking her fortune, if they haven’t already.