Harriet and Stanley were in their late 80s and had just moved into a new home that their tech-savvy grandson convinced them to make “smart.”
“Everything’s voice-activated now,” the grandson said proudly, clapping his hands. “Lights, thermostat, TV, even the fridge tells you when you’re out of milk!”
Harriet squinted suspiciously. “Does it tell you when the milk has turned? Because your grandfather has been drinking expired milk since 1972 and says it ‘builds character.’”
Stanley shrugged. “Hasn’t k.i.ll3d me yet. Probably the reason I’m still kicking.”
So one evening, Harriet tried using the voice commands.
She stood in the middle of the living room and said loudly, “Turn on the lights!”
Nothing.
She tried again. “TURN ON THE LIGHTS!”
Still nothing.
Sitting in his recliner, Stanley said, “You have to say ‘Hey Smart Home’ first, remember?”
So Harriet raised her voice, “HEY SMART HOME, TURN ON THE LIGHTS!”
The microwave beeped. The lights stayed off. And the thermostat dropped to 60 degrees.
Stanley grumbled, “Well now it thinks we’re going into hibernation.”
The next day, Harriet tried to play music. “Hey Smart Home, play some Frank Sinatra.”
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The speakers crackled… then started blasting gangster rap at full volume.
Stanley screamed over the noise, “Well, this ain’t flyin’ me to the moon!”
It took them 45 minutes and a call to their grandson to turn it off.
Later that night, the fridge started talking.
“You are out of eggs,” a creepy robot voice said.
Stanley shouted back, “Then go get some!”
The fridge paused and said, “I didn’t catch that.”
Harriet looked at Stanley. “We’ve been married 60 years. I thought I’d get to boss you around in retirement. Now I’ve got a refrigerator with an attitude.”
The next morning, they unplugged everything.
Stanley handed Harriet her old flip phone. “Let’s just go back to yelling at each other the old-fashioned way.”
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In 1993, a deaf baby was left on my doorstep. I took on the role of his mother, but I had no idea what the future would hold for him.
