[GeoStL] NGR but hillarious! Human victory rare over world of robots
- From: Elkie <elkcooker44@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: geocaching@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Thu, 22 May 2008 20:40:02 -0700 (PDT)
I am sure we have all had this happen to us at some point. It is so funny I
thought I would share it with everyone.
I hope everyone has a safe and fun Memorial weekend. OH btw Assumption is
having their Greek Fest this weekend and are serving food all 3 days.
Human victory rare over world of robots
By WILLIAM CARTER
wcarterfranklin@xxxxxxx
I heard some guy in Publix tell the robot-voice at the self-checkout line to
kiss his @$% the other day.
"Kiss my @$%!" he yells after that nightmarish, oh-so-reasonable-but-soulless
voice commands him for the third time to remove his last item from the bag and
wait for an attendant. His face is red and his nostrils are flaring and his
breathing is fast and shallow.
I start laughing and he glares at me.
"What are you laughing at?!?" he barks.
"I'm not really laughing AT you," I tell him. "I'm only laughing because I've
been in exactly the same situation you're in right now and know from experience
that the robot-woman inside the machine doesn't respond to cussing. None of the
robots do. I used to think it was a design flaw until I realized it's actually
a vast, universal conspiracy involving Big Business and The Government. I would
tell you more, but the machine's probably listening. I will say this, though?I
think all humans, as a matter of principle, should be opposed to all robots if
only for the fact they DON'T respond to cussing."
He looks at me as if he's either been astounded and enlightened by my
indisputable logic or if he's weighing the consequences of whapping me upside
the head with the box of Jimmy Dean Microwavable Sausage and Biscuits he's
holding in his hand.
"Well, it can STILL kiss my @$%," he says, turning away, and dragging his box
over the scanner one more time.
The pleasant-voiced but evil robot harpy inside the machine instructs him once
again to wait for an attendant. The box of Jimmy Dean Microwavable Sausage and
Biscuits fall to the floor. The man freezes ? his face now the color of a
newly-birthed bruise ? and a sound like that of a giant frog farting under
water passes his lips.
I never want to hear that sound again.
Alarmed, I call out to the 12-year-old standing behind the Lectern of Power at
the end of the self-checkout aisle. He is picking his nose and reading the back
of a DVD case, studiously ignoring us with a degree of concentration I found
oddly admirable in one so young. Finally, he wipes his finger on his green
apron, looks at me, and raises his eyebrows in question.
"Uh?you might want to help this guy," I tell him. "I think your robot made him
have a heart attack because it had an issue with his biscuits."
The kid's mouth slowly gapes open as he stares in awe at the purple-faced man
emitting amphibian flatulence noises in front of the For-Your-Convenience
machine. There are tears of frustration, or maybe pain, leaking from the
corners of the man's eyes now and the kid approaches warily while motioning to
a matronly lady behind the Service Counter. She has the look of one who has
seen it all on her face, pins of exemplary service adorn her name-tag, and,
more importantly, a Robot-Control Key dangles from a cord around her neck.
The lady strides over, maneuvers her way in front of the immobile, purple,
crying man, sticks the Robot-Control Key in the machine, punches a few buttons,
then drags the offending box of sausage and biscuits across the scanner. The
machine beeps and the robot awards her with instructions to place the box in
the bag. The lady steps away, rolls her eyes at the nose-picking kid, shakes
her head slightly, then asks the man if there is anything else she can help him
with.
It took a few seconds, but a glimmer of coherence dawned in the man's eyes and
the plum-color of his face paled to an almost, but not quite, alarming shade of
red. His head swivels to look at the kid, then swivels back to face the lady.
"Yeah," he says to her, "there sure is something else you can help me with. You
can help me take this bleepity-bleep of a bleep bleeping machine and bleeping
cram it straight up the bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep of the bleeping bleep of
whatever bleeping-bleep-bleep idiot who came up with the bleeping idea of a
bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep self checkout counter. How about that? Is that
something you might want to help me with? Oh?and you can keep your bleeping
biscuits."
Then he leaves.
In the stunned silence that followed, I swear I heard the robot-woman inside
the machine gasp.
Score one for us humans.
Life is way to short to take serious.
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