(Setting: Microphone stand, relaxed posture. Walking to the mic.)
Hey everyone. I was thinking about how we live our lives. We spend so much time trying to be efficient. But lately, I've realized that efficiency is just a fancy word for "more stress."
Take grocery shopping. You know how it is? You go in and you need milk, bread, eggs. Simple. But now, they've put these self-checkout machines everywhere. They are supposed to be the answer to all your problems. They are supposed to be faster than a human.
I went to the store yesterday. I got in line at the self-checkout. I put my items in the bagging area. I scan everything. I scan the milk. I scan the bread. I scan the eggs. Everything is green. It says, "Pay Here."
I put my card in the reader. I swipe the screen. It says, "Please place item on scanner."
I looked at the screen. I looked at my hands. I had already put all the items in the bag. I told it, "I did that," but the machine just blinked at me. It didn't have a face, so I don't know if it was judging me. It just kept saying, "Please place item on scanner."
I couldn't figure out what it meant. I scanned the milk again. Nothing. I put the bread down. Nothing. It was like the machine was trying to tell me I was a bad shopper, but it didn't have the vocabulary to say it.
Then I saw the "Customer Service" button. It was glowing. I pressed it.
A screen popped up. It said, "Please wait while we connect you to an associate."
I sat there. I waited two minutes. I watched the screen. It was loading. It was buffering. It was like waiting for a good Wi-Fi signal in a basement.
Finally, a person showed up. She looked young. She looked tired. She walked over to the machine. She looked at the screen. She looked at me. She said, "Hi, I'm here to help."
I realized something in that moment. The machine was faster than the human, sure. But the machine couldn't tell me that I was having a bad day. The machine couldn't tell me that I was hungry. The machine couldn't even tell me what time it was.
The human could. She just looked at me and said, "Did you forget to scan the ketchup?"
I said, "No."
She looked at the ketchup. I said, "I did."
She said, "Okay, well, I'll be right back."
And she walked away. I was left standing there with the machine, which kept saying, "Please place item on scanner."
I realized then that the machine isn't broken. The machine is perfect. It's efficient. It's cold. It's exactly what we wanted. We want a machine that checks our items, charges us, and tells us to go home.
But then I thought about the cashier. She's human. She has feelings. She has a life. Maybe she's tired. Maybe she's just trying to get through her shift.
I decided I'd pay for the ketchup. I didn't want to be the guy who stands there for five minutes with a machine that says, "Please place item on scanner."
I walked up to the cashier. She smiled. She said, "Hi, how are you?"
I said, "Good. Thanks."
She said, "You're welcome."
I paid. I got my bag. I walked out the door.
And then I realized something. I didn't need the machine. I needed the human.
I just wanted someone to tell me, "You're doing great."
I didn't get that. I got a receipt.
So I'm going to try to find a machine that says, "You're doing great." I think it exists somewhere. Maybe in the library. Maybe in the bank.
But for now, I'm going to go buy more milk. And if the machine tells me to scan it again, I'm going to tell it to scan me.
(Shuffles off stage.)
