The robot beeped. It’s name was G1, and it did not know it. G1’s shape was the dull kind, a metal rectangle with soft edges. It was gray, and it observed only gray, because it was not a big, violent robot - the only kind, engineers reasoned, were worth imbuing with some level of humanity. Next to G1 were G2 and G3, two similar looking robots. The main difference came in the little blinking light atop each of their antennas. G1’s was traffic light yellow, G2’s was bright green, and G3’s was sky blue. Of course, they did not know it. 

The biggest liberty the robots had been granted was the ability to speak. They could understand human speech, though they themselves could only utter beeps. This did not make them lonely. They were robots created to count how many students were in a room and see whether that complied with fire department regulations. An understanding of loneliness could impede that function. So, it was not included. 

G2 beeped twice, meaning Student ID 2003IO is here. 

If the robots knew what loneliness was, they might’ve known her. The college student knelt down in front of the robots, and let her bare knees press into the glossy floor. Her full name was Jane Elizabeth Cleary. She was a freshman, and she’d moved to college from out of state. She was classified as ‘petite.’ If she pressed herself against the wall, the amount of space she’d take up in a room was minimal. The robots understood this. They did not understand what she said to them, even as they processed the words. 

“Hi guys,” Jane said. The robots did not have eyes to stare into, so she took turns looking at their different antennas. “I had a shorter day today, that’s why I’m early. It doesn’t make me regret starting my day at eight any less, though.”

The robots said nothing. 

Jane reached into her pocket and pulled out a few hastily folded sheets of paper. “My teacher says I really need to start reading my writing aloud, would you mind? It’s just an essay about Shakespeare, it’s not super obscure. Unless you hate Shakespeare, that is.”

The essay was about Shakespeare’s decision to age down Juliet in his adaptation of the poem  “The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet.”It was not a bad essay. It wasn’t particularly good either. The robots listened, because they were bolted to the ground. They did not know there were those who weren’t bolted to the ground. Their existences were crowd estimating, regulations, floor stains, and Jane. She left a few hours later, thanking them for helping her study, and saying she’d try to meet more regularly from now on. 

G3 beeped twice, then paused, then beeped again, meaning Student ID 2003IO has left the building. The estimated total of students in the building is: 0.

Observed, replied G1. The world fell still again.

Jane had met with the robots first during her campus tour. She hadn’t been admitted yet, and came prepared to increase her chances with a folder full of notes. A practice likely done for every college campus tour, but it was important that both Jane and the tour guide pretend it was done for this college alone. The robots were one of the final stops. A new feature at the time - a selling point. 

“And these are Winchester’s brand new crowd control bots! They help keep this campus safe using state of the art technology. Just another example of Winchester’s cutting edge approach to student life,” the guide recited. 

Jane’s hand shot up. “Is it true these robots are currently only available at Winchester? I couldn’t find a clear answer online.”

The guide’s smile stayed in its slightly-too-wide position. “What a great question! I can tell you really did your research, Jane. While similar bots can be seen in neighboring colleges, the models here at Winchester are a custom design, and that makes them unique!”

The tour moved on. Jane didn’t. She came back to them after the tour had ended. “Hi, I’m Jane,” she’d said then. “I hope you don’t mind me staying here for a while. This is the only secluded place I’ve seen on the whole campus. They messed the schedule up - I’ve got a whole half hour until my interview.”

The robots said nothing. 

“Also I’m just tired of walking,” Jane continued, a whine seeping into every other syllable. “I think it’s ‘cause of my low blood pressure. I get it from my mom.”

She hadn’t sat on the floor then, just stood with her hands covering her elbows. Around her neck hung a card reading “VISITOR” in bold black letters. The robots had been taught to recognize this. In their databases, her image was recorded, and stored in the VISITOR file. Her face, tilted perpetually toward their blank screens and blinking lights, was exceptionally easy to scan. 

For the rest of that short break Jane was quiet. She inhaled then exhaled, inhaled then exhaled. Did the meditation trick of breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth. A near-complete silence settled in without her chatter. Of course, the robots had not been taught to care about noise. An absence of it did not prompt even a beep.

“Thanks,” Jane said before going off to her interview. “I think I just needed somewhere to breathe.”

It was months later that she returned, and a harddrive of data inserted into each robot told them to change her image to the STUDENT file. The three robots did not reminisce on meeting her, did not discuss it. They were robots, the one creation incapable of ruminating. That did not mean they were incapable of recalling details about her - committed for work purposes, of course. 

Jane kept her promise to meet more regularly, and was back two days later. This time her chest was being continuously wracked by huge, unrelenting sobs. She put her hands to her face, then to her nostrils. The robots knew this, but they did not know she was attempting to clean her face of snot and tears. They simply observed.

She was wearing a tank top with the words ‘Fierce Like Frida,’ which at one point must have been tucked into her jeans, but had now been jostled around, bits of the fabric inside the denim and others outside it. “I fucking hate this,” Jane said through whimpers. “My roommate is the worst. I fucking hate her. I hate everything.”

The robots did not know ‘hate.’ They said nothing.

“Like she just -” an enormous sniffle threatened to incapacitate her completely. “We don’t fit. At all. I filled out a like, multi page, serious roommate assignment form and it meant nothing! I fucking hate this.”

Inevitably, she lay down on the floor. “And I talked with my mom over the phone, and she was like, you could probably ask to transfer. But I looked up the form and it would take weeks! Fucking weeks. Everything just sucks so bad. This place is terrible.”

She’d suppressed her cries long enough. They took over her body, her mouth, with little resistance. The rest of the meeting was spent like that, with Jane’s face towards the ceiling, throat not her own. Sobbing. The robots understood that Jane was making sounds. But human emotion was not crucial to crowd estimating. Their occasional beeps were but maintenance checks. Background sounds.

At the end of it, Jane managed to wipe her face a final time, and tuck her shirt in. “Thanks,” she said. A croak stuck in the words. “It feels good to vent. Sorry for getting all angry.”

Student ID 2003IO has left the building, said G2 as she walked away.

Observed, replied G3. And it was.