Wheatley's Voice

"Good morning, you have been in suspension for fifty days."  A robotic voice intones.  "In compliance with state and federal regulations, all testing candidates in the Aperture Science Extended Relaxation Center must be revived periodically for a mandatory physical and mental wellness exercise."
He misses a beat, and above you, a chattering, British voice starts speaking.
"Nonono.  That panel.  That one.  Yeah- aw, nope.  Wrong one.  Just get it right, would you?!"
"You will hear a buzzer.  When you hear the buzzer, look up at the ceiling." The first voice continues, as if nothing has happened.  Dutifully, when the grackle-squawk of the buzzer sounds, you look up, not anticipating the sudden flow of blood to your head.  Aww, cra-
"That's it.  That one.  No, not that one, you stupid, idiotic-"
"Good. You will hear a buzzer.  When you hear the buzzer, look down at the floor."  The robotic voice interrupts.   Once again, you look down, holding your head and swaying a bit.  Instant relief.  Thank goodness.
"There we go, there we go, that's the right one!  Good job.  Remind me to recommend you for a raise later- no, not a big raise, Jer, I don't have that much clout, as it were, but a small raise, an itty-bitty tiny raise.  Yeah.  Thank- thanks Jer.  You can go now.  Yeah." A small release of air pffts from above, accompanied by what sounds like angry chittering.  A blue- what's it called- a sphere drops down out of it.  A fake, jolly look is in its singular, atmosphere blue eye.  "And they call me a moron." The sphere mutters angrily, seemingly not noticing that you were watching already.  "Hello!" He says happily.
"Good!" The other voice edges in again.
"Jer!  Would you shut him up?  He's driving me absolutely mad!" The British sphere yells at the ceiling.  You blink.  Okay, then.
"This completes the gymnastic portion of your mandatory physical and-"
The buzzer blasts through the room, racheting up the volume each time it goes off.  It seems like whoever this "Jer" is, he's having fun with the little core.
"You like the buzzer!  We get it, this is an obvious fact!  Just- stop- please." Finally, the buzzer stops.  "Oh, thank goodness. Hey!  Look at that!  I'm in the right chamber this time.  That's, that's marvelous, I tell you." He sighs happily, nodding at you repeatedly.  "Oh, by the way, the name's Wheatley."  He nods a few more times to illustrate the point that his name is really Wheatley, before he continues in an entirely different vein.
"Alright, so.  I went outside today, and I'll tell you, it's massive!  Got stores and all sorts of little booths with hook-things in them and numbers.  I tried to use one, but, ahh, couldn't push the buttons, you see.  Sad, that was." He pauses.  "But, did you know, there's this thing called a 'Wal-Mart'.  I don't know what it is, exactly, but you can get birds there!  Free birds!  And you don't have to cook them or anything!"
He spins around joyfully, entranced with this concept.  "If I'm honest, I do have, ahh, a question for you.  Not a hard question, not a hard one, but, you see, I don't have any other way of figuring out the answer except you.  Because- not my fault, realize, not my fault- most of the others are dead.  Vegetables, they are.  Isn't anything to be done.  So, so, so…" he pauses grandly for effect, "I decided to ask you!  Amazing, right?  Here it is.  You ready?"
He leans in in a conspiratory sort of way, casting his eye this way and that, presumably to see if the wallpaper is listening.
"Okay.  So… what exactly would be the purpose of a 'red-box'?"