Ok so it’s 2040 and I’m 92 years old – too old if you ask me, which of course you didn’t – but that’s not the point. The point is I’m pissed-off. Sure, you say, of course you’re pissed-off – you’re old – and being old and pissed-off go together like peanut-butter and jelly, but that’s not the point. My refrigerator is the point.
Now look, I may be 92 but I’m no luddite and never was. That’s not to say I didn’t get pissed-off at my old iPhone15; God, I hated the way it nagged and nagged. “Time to take your Statin, Larry,” it would announce, like I was some sort of moron. “Don’t forget your glasses.” “Don’t do this, don’t do that.” Man it felt good to throw that iPhone on the roof! Of course, then my neighbor came over to tell me my iPhone kept sending him a message about being on his roof. Damn, that iPhone pissed me off. But that’s not the point.
For a while I liked the “Internet of Things.” I’m a lazy person, basically. Having household appliances all linked into my Network was really cool…but just for a while. Milk passed its expiration? No problem; a delivery of fresh milk arrived the same day. “Hey Fridge,” I’d say, “do we have any yoghurt?” “Yes, Larry,” Fridge would reply, “One two-pint carton of Pavel’s 2%, three days left until it’s expiration. Want me to order some?” Hey, it was handy. Sometimes I’d ask a crazy question just to see how well the AI module had improved; wireless auto-updates of AI happened without even asking. “Hey Fridge, what’s the total number of calories inside you at the moment?”
The whole house was like this, like most everybody’s house here in Sonoma. “Hey Thermo, I’m cold.” “Hey Living Room, it’s too dark in here.” “Goodnight Lights.” “Goodnight Heat.” You know how it was, kinda like being a character in the kid’s book “Goodnight Moon.” But that’s not the point.
I know, I’m rambling. Sorry. I’m 92 so that’s just the way it is. By the way, last week I got a message from DMV. Yeah, yeah…I know cars drive themselves but being in the car still requires a license from DMV, don’t ask me why. Anyway, I’m in the kitchen eating breakfast, muttering over the holo-news-feed display. “Next page, Holo,” I bark, and there’s the headline: “Government to Monitor and Regulate Calorie Intake”. “Holy crap! Look at this,” I shout to my wife. “No way at 92 I’m gonna let anybody tell me how and what to eat!” Little did I know that Fridge was listening.
OK, ok, ok…I shouldn’t be surprised at Fridge, after she’s just doing what she was built to do. But that’s not why I am pissed-off. Turns out listening is not all Fridge does. Turns out Fridge works for “The Man.” Yeah, I’m dating myself as a Boomer, but that’s not the point. The point is I got busted for bad attitude by my damned refrigerator!
Now I’ve got Sonoma’s Department of Health and Nutrition watching my ass and chiming in at noon everyday. “Your calorie intake today is deficient, Larry. Consume one pint of Supplement 11 by 4pm to be within compliance. Have a nice day.” Yeah, yeah. Supplement 11, by the way, tastes like crap.
