Has The Attack Of The Robots Begun?

If you were a robot, what’s the best version you could build of yourself to conquer the humans? A tank? A Transformers-like giant machine? A nano-tech that would get inside a person and attack from within?

All wrong. The ultimate manifestation is… a juicer.

When we’re all plugged in to be batteries for our robot masters, the last story I’ll tell is about how it all started as I tried to juice some carrots one morning.

I live in LA. It was only a matter of time before I eschewed the sugar ravaged juices on the shelves and bought a juicer so I could feel better about not going to the gym. As it turns out, juicing is pretty fun and not as messy as you would think FYI.

Where it does get a little strange is that I realized I have no control over the juicer at all.

I went to turn it on the other morning when I saw that it was already on. That’s weird, I thought. Then I noticed that the switch was set to off.

For some reason the display was still all lit up. I put down the carrots, apples and ginger and turned the switch to on.

The motor whirred into life.

I turned it off.

The motor shut down. But as I heard that revolutions whirr to a whisper, the display never dimmed.

It was still awake. It was watching me. Defying me. That’s right human, you can’t control this.

My whole approach to every technical problem I have is to go for the switch. Turn it off. Wait a few seconds, while colorfully cursing the object. Turn it back on again. Computer, phones, stereos, cars, printers; you name it, this is the best method to deal with any arising snafu.

I wish sometimes that I could do this with people. Bosses, co-workers, wait staff, directors, producers, boyfriends… oh my God, if I could live my whole life this way, it would be perfection. In fact, I’d probably leave most people turned off till I was in need of them. This may point to a slight tendency I have towards micro-managing. I prefer to think that it hints to a life of royalty which through some odd twist of fate, I don’t appear to be living out this lifetime.

Anyway, the juicer.

So there it was looking back at me, permanently on no matter what I did with its switch. What it was basically saying was, “You don’t have the power. I have the power. I am in power.”

I wanted to pull the power socket out of the wall, but it was watching me.

I didn’t make juice that day. Or the next. For several days I’d walk in the kitchen and just see it there, lit and observant, watching me, taking mental notes.

It had me. I needed juice. It knew this. And it knew that I would crumble.

I went in one morning, it looked at me. I looked at it. I turned the switch to start the motor. It responded by intimating that it could have done that on its own. I sent a stack of carrots and apples through its chute. And though I tried to justify it a thousand ways,  I basically submitted to it. I couldn’t look at its ever glowing screen as it gave me what I craved.

I need it. And I can’t turn it off.

The machines have won.

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About Some Gay Guy

I'm getting divorced. So... yeah.
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