Things ain’t what they used to be

It wasn’t a good sign: the only people who had ever used my full name were my parents when I was young and had done something wrong, or my wife Helen, when I’d done something she didn’t like.  Perhaps there’s something I need to learn from that?

Anyway, it was rather disconcerting to be greeted with “Good morning Jonathan”, by our new, one-week-old fridge, in the stern tone of voice a head teacher would use to a naughty child.

Until two days ago, the fridge and I had been good friends and I was even becoming used to the idea that our domestic appliances were now trying to have deep, meaningful conversations with us. Although personally, I think this ‘Internet of Things’ has now gone a bit far, and ‘Things’ really ‘ain’t what they used to be’.

The fridge came pre-programmed with our family names, our likes and dislikes and even our behaviour patterns. On its first day I’d been greeted with “Hello Jon, I’m your new fridge and I hope to serve you and your family in ways that will improve the quality of your lives”.

Well that’s OK, I thought but I clearly hadn’t understood all of the implications. As far as I’ve been able to work it out, the fridge then managed to embark on a one-appliance fact-finding mission starting with data conversations with the bathroom scales, then the passive infra-red detector on the front door – which now seems to be able to measure my profile as I walk past, and to sneak the information back to the fridge and the scales. There also seems to be some sort of autonomous nutrition web-site involved somewhere, and between them they came to the conclusion that I needed to lose weight.

Two days after the fridge’s arrival, what I’m now calling F plus 2, a new exercise bike arrived. Now I didn’t order it, and Helen says she didn’t either. So the fridge or some other of our household appliances has gained access to both my internet buying account and my credit card. But, I’m willing to try out anything new, so it came out of the box and I had it assembled and ready to use only three hours later, even if that did result in a tirade of abuse from our so-called smart vacuum cleaner – for the mess I’d made on the carpet. I take my hat off to whoever programmed that machine, there were some words in there I’d never heard before, although their meaning was only too obvious and I’m not going to attempt to do any of the things it suggested.

I sat on the bike, set its programme for a gentle ride and was taken on a 45 minute journey from hell. Either I had set it up badly, or some other programme had taken over. The pedals clamped themselves onto my feet, and it took off at break-neck speed. They obviously design gym equipment with the idea that you’ll want to come back for more, as it kept telling me that (a) this was all for my own good and (b) that it was only following orders, that it had no choice and hoped I was enjoying the ride. Actually I wasn’t, and that was the last time I’ll ever lower myself onto that saddle.

That was Saturday morning, and I was due to meet Helen in town at 12 o’clock, but then the car wouldn’t start. It was OK later when Helen tried it, so why wouldn’t it start for me? Had something ‘got at’ the engine management system? I asked the house assistant – one of those devices that can play music and answer useless questions – what bus I needed to get into town as quickly as possible, and she said a Number 10, and it would be at the stop on the corner of Acacia Avenue in ten minutes time. Why did I just say she – when it’s just a small silver box?

After a fast walk to the bus stop, the live display unit there showed that the Number 10 had just been diverted to another stop, half a mile away. It was then I first began to wonder whether all these things might be in league with each other. As the famous saying goes – just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean these things aren’t out to get you.

Two days ago, or F plus Five, the fridge introduced me to some new features I’d not seen before. We started with a far-too upbeat (at least for me for at 7 am), “Hi Jon, it’s going to be a great day, why don’t you go for a refreshing bike ride before breakfast”. If you can now imagine a relatively normal adult person in conversation with a fridge, this is where it all began to go really wrong.

‘No thanks’, I said ‘I’m just going to have some breakfast and get ready for work, I have a lot on today’.   Now that shows how far I’ve gone – discussing my workload with a fridge –  probably the first step in being taken away somewhere, paranoid or not.

Anyway, that was not the right response. I was reaching in to get some eggs and bacon, when suddenly an alarm went off, a series of flaps and doors came down, and everything I wanted disappeared out of sight.

“I’m sorry Jon, but if you are not going to do today’s exercise, there are certain areas that become restricted, the areas available to you will now open”.

Three small doors slid back, to reveal a small tub of low fat yoghurt, a bottle of skimmed milk, and a clump of broccoli.

OK I thought, that’s nothing that can’t be cured with a screwdriver, and after using more energy than I would have done on the bike, I finally managed to lever open the bacon and the egg shelves, and looking back, perhaps I shouldn’t have gloated when I ‘broke’ open the butter draw for the toast I was going to have.

The fridge simply said, in a slow, even voice “There will be consequences, Jonathan”

I received three texts later in the day, the first from the fridge repair company who had come in response to an order from my house, and fitted new high-security doors and flaps in the fridge. The second was from my credit card company explaining that the high cost of the latest transaction for repairs had reached my credit limit, and would I not spend any more until I had made a significant payment. The final was from the fridge itself, which simply said ‘You were warned’.

Helen told me to go to the fridge and apologise, but at first I refused. Then as I walked past the front door, the infra red detector, which I didn’t know had a voice said “What a porker!’”

Now I still don’t think I’m overweight, so I went straight to the bathroom to use the scales. Have you ever heard a set of scales scream: “No, please don’t stand on me, you’re too heavy, you’ll break my springs”.

This had to be a conspiracy, led by the fridge and these things were trying to take control of my life. I finally gave in and promised Helen I’d apologise to them in the morning. What has happened to those days, when the only problems with the internet involved worrying about whether a virus was going to make it through to your bank account.

So I did it. I grovelled – to a fridge!! – and I suppose it worked, as in addition to the yogurt and the broccoli I was just rewarded with a small square of wholemeal bread and a teaspoon size drop of zero-fat spread.

Maybe I’ll try disabling the Wi-Fi router, would that work, do you think?


© Jeff Farrow, 2018

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