Mathew 1

Mathew stood across the road from the Life shop. It was pitch dark outside. He preferred coming here at night, avoiding the daylight hours when people usually picked up their products. He knew the store would be nearly empty, a quiet haven in the night. The shop didn’t sell alcohol, nor did it allow more products to be purchased than recommended. He realized "purchased" wasn’t the right word. The items in the shop weren’t bought; they waited for a Life member to claim them if prescribed.

Now a Life member himself, Mathew’s eligibility came after losing his job. With no source of income, Centerlink deemed him suitable for Life’s ‘social’ project. As a member, he would receive food tailored to his bodily needs. He understood the shop’s workings from online articles, promotional videos, and streams of users sharing their experiences. Additionally, he had to learn to use the components lent to him by Life - the microcomputer and the glasses.

The microcomputer resembled a thick mobile phone, about four stacked together. Mathew had seen it in many videos and recalled everyone mentioning its inconvenient weight. He even had to buy a belt to keep his trousers up with the device in his pocket. The microcomputer’s task was to convert real-time data into smaller chunks, send it encrypted to the company server, where it would be processed, and then relay the product recommendations back to the glasses. Mathew pondered why such a bulky device couldn’t do the calculations itself but then reasoned it out. The immense amount of data, safety measures, and potential battery drain or heat issues made server processing necessary.

He stood outside, staring at the store. Its massive windows, stretching from ground to roof, made it completely visible from every angle. The bright white light inside was stark and clinical, reminiscent of the cold, sterile glow he remembered from hospital visits as a child. Mathew put on the glasses that came with the microcomputer. Immediately, neon green text appeared on the store’s white wall: LIFE. He took the glasses off, confirming the sign was invisible without them. As explained in the instructional video, the glasses added a layer of virtual reality, showing elements of the Life shop that couldn’t be seen otherwise. They communicated with the microcomputer to overlay text and instructions for the user, highlighting available products in the shop.

With a loud sigh, almost as if making a statement against his beliefs, he moved towards the shop. The glass door entrance opened automatically, welcoming him inside. Once in, the doors shut behind him. His glasses displayed "Update body analysis" in red, partially obstructing his view. A red arrow pointed to a space resembling a changing room. Annoyed by the persistent flashing, Mathew followed it.

Inside the small room, he saw simple apparatus. A green neon sign instructed, "Mandatory body check 1. Take off shoes and socks and stand on scale." Irritated by the artificiality of the instruction, he removed the glasses. The closest overhead light started flashing. "You have to be kidding me," he thought. Disbelieving that the light was linked to his glasses, he put them back on, and the flashing ceased, leaving only the red text on his lens. Frustrated, he complied, removing his shoes and socks and stepping onto the scale. After about 20 seconds, the measurements were done. Another instruction followed, "Mandatory body check 2. Saliva test. Please spit into the vial up to the green line. Then close the lid and insert it into this hole." An arrow pointed to the vial and a slot in the wall. Mathew followed the instructions, knowing non-compliance meant no food articles for him.

He wasn’t particularly bothered by giving his medical data to the company; he had already undergone extensive testing to qualify for the program. These shop tests were just weekly updates, ensuring his food was personalized in real-time. Although the saliva test results wouldn’t update his prescriptions for a week, the scale’s immediate data updates like fat content and heart rate were instant.

After depositing the vial, green flashing text bombarded his eyes again, suggesting non-mandatory tests for improved personalization: blood, urine, and stool tests. Ignoring them, he left the room and entered the main shopping area.

Life's aisles were filled with long rows of matte white boxes, each marked with a small code in the upper right corner. According to the instructional video, these codes were scanned by the glasses and sent to the microcomputer. If the product matched his needs, the microcomputer would inform the glasses to display the product name. Otherwise, the box would remain blank. Mathew walked slowly along the aisles, familiarizing himself with the box sizes, their arrangement, and their texture and weight. Each box was uninformative about its contents, making it difficult to guess without shaking them gently.

As he passed the third aisle, a green neon sign appeared on a white cereal-shaped box: COOKIES.