Gemotions

The patent lawyer, a woman named Ms. Chen, smiled. “Congratulations, Mr. Henderson! Your self-folding laundry basket is a brilliant idea.” Henderson shifted in his chair, the cheap pleather groaning under his weight. He’d spent months perfecting the design, endless hours in his garage, fueled by ramen and caffeine. Now, this. He drummed his fingers on the table, the polished surface reflecting his grimace.

“Yes, well,” he began, his voice flat. “It's just… I’ve seen some, uh, similar models.” He gestured vaguely, as if the entire concept of automated laundry was a shared delusion.

Ms. Chen leaned forward, her expression encouraging. "Perhaps you'd like to share your concerns."

He swallowed. "The hinges. The spring mechanism. The power source." He paused, finding it hard to believe his own words. "They're… identical." The lawyer's smile didn't falter, but he noticed a minute tightening around her eyes.