Eagle, I don't want to form an alliance anymore.

Only at this moment did the trainer truly realize that popularizing basic quality education is a long and arduous task.

...

Over the next two weeks, the trainer experienced the longest fourteen days of his life.

He taught the trainees how to log in to the system—entering their community ID and operator password. The password was a six-digit number, and half of the trainees forgot their passwords on the first day. The trainer advised them to write it down on paper but not stick it on the terminal.

The next day he discovered that about a third of the trainees had pasted their passwords on the bezel of their terminal displays.

He began teaching the trainees how to use the system.

The core principle behind the design of this computer interface by the Soviet Academy of Sciences was that the operator might be a retired worker in his 50s, and his computer skills were assumed to be close to zero. Therefore, the interface had to be extremely simplified, allowing the most common tasks to be completed with the fewest possible steps.

After powering on, the system displays the main menu, which contains only four large colored buttons. You can click them with the trackball.

1. Create a new appointment – ​​This is the most frequently used function, occupying the upper left quarter of the screen.

After clicking to enter, the first step is to input resident information. After entering the resident's internal passport number, the system will automatically retrieve the resident's name, address, and micro-area number. If it is a returning user, the system will also display past appointment records, making it convenient to quickly reorder frequently used items.

The second step is to select a product category. The screen displays a tree-like menu for categorization, with each subcategory containing a list of specific products, displaying the product name, specifications, country price, and current inventory status.

Inventory status is indicated by three colors: green means "in stock in regional warehouse, expected delivery on X days"; yellow means "requires allocation from other regions, expected delivery on X days"; and red means "requires production scheduling, expected delivery on X days".

After selecting specific items and entering the quantity, the system automatically calculates the total price and displays the estimated delivery date. Upon confirmation, the dot-matrix printer prints out a reservation voucher—a slip of paper containing a number, barcode, item list, estimated delivery date, and the resident's name. The resident takes this voucher home and waits for further notification.

2. Check appointment status/reissue voucher — blue button, upper right quarter.

Enter the number on the appointment voucher or the resident's passport number, and the system will display the current status of all the resident's incomplete appointments: received, allocated, in transit, arrived and waiting to be picked up, or ask the resident to reissue the voucher.

3. Confirm Pickup – Yellow button, bottom left quarter.

Once the goods arrive at the community pickup point, the operator enters the reservation number, and the system marks the order as picked up. A pickup receipt is also printed, which the resident signs to confirm. This step is crucial—it allows the OGAS system to track the entire chain from reservation to delivery and generate statistics on logistics efficiency.

4. Feedback and Appeals – Red button, bottom right quarter.

Residents can submit feedback through this function regarding dissatisfaction with product quality, late delivery, or discrepancies between the product and its description. The system automatically categorizes and uploads the feedback to the district-level OGAS node for processing by relevant departments.

The entire screen has a dark blue background, with a cool outline of the Soviet coat of arms made of circuit lines in the upper left corner. Each time a reservation is successfully submitted, a short message will appear on the screen:

“Ваш заказ — часть общего плана” (Your appointment is part of the overall plan)

It constantly reminds every user that your consumption behavior is not just an individual market behavior, but also an integral part of the national computerized planned economy.

Everything seemed perfect, but the trainer messed up during the first step of instruction.

"How do I turn the page?" the saleswoman asked.

"Press this key," the trainer said, pointing to the Page Down key on the keyboard.

The woman pressed a button on the screen and turned a page.

"Oh."

The woman pressed the button again and turned the page.

"Oh?"

The woman pressed and held down the Page Down button, and the screen flipped through pages frantically. The product list scrolled down like a waterfall, reaching the very bottom of the catalog within seconds.

"Ah! It's gone mad!" The woman released the button, her face showing an expression as if she had been electrocuted.

After two weeks of rigorous training, the trainer had developed excellent facial expression control. He said, "Comrade, don't hold it down. Press it once and release, press it again and release."

On the last day of the training, there was a simulation test in which the trainers played the role of residents and the trainees played the role of operators to complete a full appointment process.

Now it's finally the trainers' turn to have some fun; they can finally be troublemakers for once!

Before he could even act like a troublemaker, the saleswoman's performance in the mock test was already shaky: she spent four minutes finding the "men's winter cotton boots" item, after spending two minutes scrolling through the "furniture" category before realizing shoes weren't furniture; when instructing residents to enter their ID numbers, the trainer deliberately wrote a 9 instead of a 4, causing a system error, and she claimed the machine was broken and needed repair...

After seven minutes of fumbling, I finally managed to simulate buying a pair of boots on the machine. The printer buzzed and spat out a small slip of paper, which was the reservation voucher.

The woman picked up the receipt and looked at it.

"that's all?"

"that's it."

"Okay, thank you, young man. I thought you'd find me troublesome." The older woman patted the trainer on the shoulder.

The trainer, with an unchanging expression on his face, walked to the door, closed it, and then roared as he tore off his clothes and ran around the neighborhood, bursting into tears of joy.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In early December, the National Consumption Reservation System 2.0 entered trial operation.

The reservation terminals in the first batch of several thousand communities where the new system was deployed started operating simultaneously. However, some problems arose—some community terminals crashed on the first day of trial operation, some community operators forgot their passwords within the first hour of trial operation (the paper pasted on the monitor was wiped off by the cleaning lady), and no one came to some communities at all—because the residents did not know what the device was for.

Most communities still managed to get running smoothly, albeit with some hiccups.

The 73rd neighborhood in the eastern district of Moscow.

This is a typical Soviet-style residential area, a five-story Khrushchev-style building with gray exterior walls and a small, bare flowerbed on the ground floor. The community committee office is on the first floor of building number one, a room of about twenty square meters. Previously, it only contained a table, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a telephone. Now, a scheduling terminal has been added to the corner of the room—a monitor, a keyboard, a main unit, and a small printer.

The operator was a woman named Tamara, who used to work as a sales clerk at a nearby state-run department store and had just completed her training two weeks ago. Today, she was wearing a neater coat than usual, and her hair was combed—after all, it was the first day of trial operation.

At nine o'clock in the morning, she turned on the terminal. She entered her community number and password, the system started, and the product catalog was displayed on the screen.

Everything is ready.

Then nobody came.

Perhaps it was the mess caused during the system trial run in the first two months that made everyone distrust this thing. People would occasionally gather at the door, waiting for some brave soul to come in and use the computer.

There was no one at 9:15, no one at 9:30, and finally the door opened at 9:45.

An old man walked in. He was probably in his early seventies, wearing a faded old cotton-padded jacket and a Soviet-style rabbit fur cotton hat on his head—the ears of the hat were turned up and tied to the top with a rope, like two upright rabbit ears.

His face was covered in wrinkles, his eyes were small but bright, and the corners of his mouth were always slightly turned down. In Tamara's years of experience as a saleswoman, this kind of old man was the most difficult to deal with, always giving everyone an expression that said, "I have opinions about most things in the world."

This old man's name is Bogdan Petrovich. He's a retired cleaner who now lives on his pension. His pension isn't much, but it's enough for him, since he doesn't really need to spend money. His daily routine consists of taking a walk in the morning, going home to cook lunch or eating at the canteen, playing pool at the community pool hall in the afternoon, and watching TV in the evening.

He came to the community office because he saw a notice posted on the door when he passed by: "The National Consumption Reservation System is in trial operation. Residents are welcome to come and experience it."

He didn't know what a reservation system was, but the words "Welcome to try" made him think that maybe he could get something for free.

“Hello,” Tamara stood up, smiling, and asked, “What items would you like to reserve?”

"What?" The old man put his hand next to his ear; his hearing wasn't very good.

"What—product—do you—need—to—book?" Tamara raised her voice.

“No need to shout! I’m not deaf,” the old man said. He was clearly a little deaf.

"What would you like to buy?" Tamara asked in a different way.

"I want to buy a pair of cotton slippers," the old man said, "the thick kind you wear in winter, because the soles of my old slippers are worn through."

Tamara sat down in front of the terminal: "Okay, would you like to check it yourself or should I check it for you?"

"Come on in."

So she started browsing through the product catalog—clothing → footwear → indoor shoes → cotton slippers.

"What number?" she asked.

Forty-two.

"color?"

"What?"

"Color! What color do you want?!"

"Don't shout! I can hear you—Brown!"

Tamara found: "Men's cotton slippers, brown, size 42". There were many different styles below, so she showed them to Old Deng. Old Deng stroked his beard and stared at the screen for a while, then asked a few questions about the differences, and finally chose the cheapest one.

Tamara clicked on this model, and the inventory showed that it was in stock, with an estimated delivery time of two to three business days.

“Found it,” Tamara said. “It’s in stock and will be delivered in 2-3 days. The system shows that it has stock in its warehouse in Kaliningrad Oblast and can be shipped directly over.”

"I don't want those people's stuff! Those people are awful. I heard that people in Kaliningrad even dump dumplings on the table to eat. I'm going to buy them from somewhere else!"

"If you buy from other places, there will be additional allocation fees. Of course, you can also choose not to buy the goods in the warehouse and directly add your demand to the next batch of production plans, which will take about half a month."

"I'd be frozen to death in just over two weeks! Let's stick with the supplies from Kalinin."

“Okay, I need your resident ID number,” Tamara said.

What certificate number?

"Resident ID Card! Your ID Number!"

The old man pulled a crumpled ID card from the inside pocket of his cotton-padded coat, rummaged through it for a while, and finally found the number before handing it to Tamara. Tamara entered the number and confirmed.

The dot matrix printer started working, and a voucher about 15 centimeters long and 8 centimeters wide was ejected. Tamara tore it off along the tear line and handed it to him. The paper was carbon paper, and two copies were generated at the same time during printing: the white original was given to the resident, and the yellow duplicate was kept on file at the community service center.

“This is your reservation voucher.” Tamara handed him the white copy of the slip of paper. “You can pick up the slips here in 2 to 3 days when they arrive. Remember to bring this voucher with you. If you lose the voucher, you can enter your ID number on the machine to get a replacement.”

The old man took the receipt and looked at it.

════════════

All-Union Automated National Reservation System

════════════

Appointment Number: XX

(This is a barcode)

Resident's Name: XXX

Passport Number: XXX

Community ID: XXX

Product details:

1. XXXX type men's cotton slippers (brown, size 42) ×1

National retail price: 18.20k.

Status: Regional allocation

Total: 18.20k.

预约日期: 1994年12月12日 14:27

Estimated delivery:

Product 1: Before December 15, 1994

Pickup location: MSK-077 Community Service Center

Operator ID: XXX

Terminal ID: XXX

Please present this receipt and your ID when picking up your goods.

The voucher is valid until 15 days after the expected delivery date.

══════════

"That's it?" "That's it."

"I don't have to pay?"

"When we reach a communist society, you won't have to pay anymore—you'll pay when you pick up the goods." "Okay."

The old man stuffed the voucher into his cotton-padded coat pocket and stood there thinking for a moment.

"Hey, this is pretty convenient. I don't need to go to that lousy state-run store anymore. I can just fill out a form here and have my slippers delivered to me?"

“Welcome to the era of computerized plans, old comrade.” Tamara smiled.

The old man walked out of the community office with the certificate in his hand, and after walking a few steps, he took the certificate out of his pocket and looked at it again.

He muttered, "At least before, when you went to a department store, you could find out if the item was in stock that day. Now, you have to fill out a form and wait three to five days. What kind of progress is this?"

He stuffed the receipt back into his pocket and continued muttering to himself, "That reservation system machine looks unreliable to me! What if it makes a mistake? What if it sends me a size 39 pair of shoes? Who am I supposed to complain to then?"

He walked to the road in the center of the neighborhood. At the end of the road was the community's billiards room, where he played a few games every afternoon. As he was walking, he bumped into someone.

"Hey! Good afternoon, Peter!"

The old man recognized her; her name was Valentina, and she had worked at the daily necessities counter of the nearby state-run department store for almost twenty years. He used to always go to her to buy things.