I wasn’t sure why they asked me to do a psychology test before I bought that new fangled high-end, super-dooper fridge with voice activation, and the ability to predict what I needed. But, I was impressed by the salesman who sold the thing to me. Well, more than impressed. He was good. He worked me through the fridges until I was standing in front of the most expensive, and the one that had internet connection. It would order what I needed as I used the contents. I would no longer have to worry about having no milk for coffee.
I bought it. I bought the hoo-ha. The spin. And now, I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing. That white gleaming monstrosity sits in my kitchen and now dictates my life.
I’ve tried to get that fridge to order ice-cream, but it’s refused. It’s telling me my BMI is too high and I need to diet. This AI, this artificial intelligence has gone too far. I was told, based on the psychology test, that I’m a bit neurotic, and now the fridge is telling me that ice-cream isn’t the answer to my anxiety. Says who?
I’ve tried buying ice-cream and sneaking it into the freezer. The first time it worked. The freezer wasn’t prepared for my revolt but, when I took the container out to savour the taste of hazelnut, the fridge wouldn’t let me put back what was left.
I started getting paranoid. Was there a camera on the fridge watching me? Determining the weight I needed to be? I was shocked that a mere machine would think it could take over my life. I revolted. Ate ice-cream out where that fridge couldn’t see me. Poked my tongue out at that piece of metal, but the fridge didn’t stop trying to regulate me, or tell me I was over-weight.
Well, I’m over it.
For sale: one fridge looking for a new home.
Burnside Writers Group 