(Walks up to mic, adjusts stand, looks around the room)
How are we doing tonight? Good?
I’m at that weird age where my body is actively betraying me. I’m not old, but I’m definitely… used. You know? I made a loud noise yesterday, just bending over to tie my shoe. It wasn’t even a crack, it was more like a dry twig snapping.
I sounded like a campfire. I had to stay in that position for like thirty seconds just to make sure I didn’t void the warranty.
But the worst part of getting older isn’t the back pain. It’s the technology gap. Specifically, the war between me and my "Smart" devices.
(Paces a bit)
Does anyone else have a "Smart Home"? Because I don’t think my home is smart. I think my home is a snitch.
I have a smart speaker. I won’t say the name, but it’s a cylinder that lives in my kitchen and judges my nutritional choices. I live alone, so I use it for company, but it’s a toxic relationship.
The other day I was trying to turn off the lights. It’s 11 PM. I’m tired. I say, "Turn off the living room lights."
And the cylinder goes, "I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that."
So I say it louder. "TURN OFF THE LIGHTS."
It says, "Playing 'Blinding Lights' by The Weeknd."
(Mimics frantic panic)
No! Stop! The lights are on! You made it worse!
Now I’m screaming at a plastic tube while "Blinding Lights" is blasting at max volume, and I’m trying to unplug it, but my hands are sweaty because I’m panic-sweating.
And then… the silence. And then the cylinder says, in that calm voice: "By the way, your posture looks terrible."
It didn’t say that, but I felt it. I felt the judgment.
(Pause for laughter)
And don’t get me started on the self-checkout lines at the grocery store. That is the most stressful job I’ve ever had, and I don’t even get a discount.
I walk up to the machine. I’m scanning my items. I’m in the zone. Beep. Beep.
Then I put a banana down.
"UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA."
(Freezes, eyes wide)
It’s a banana! It’s yellow! It’s curved! It’s the most expected item in the history of commerce! Why are you surprised?
Then the machine locks up. The light starts flashing blue. And I have to stand there and wait for the one employee who is monitoring sixteen machines. She walks over with that look. You know the look. The "I see you’re bad at technology" look.
She types in a code, looks at the banana, looks at me, and says, "You have to wait for it to register."
I said, "It’s a banana, not a nuclear launch code. Just let me pay for my potassium."
(Adjusts mic stand)
But the ultimate humiliation? The "Forgot Password" protocol.
I have a theory that "Forgot Password" is the biggest lie in the English language. It implies that at some point, I knew the password, and then simply forgot it. That is not true. I have never known a password in my life. I know the first three letters, and then my thumb does a little dance on the keyboard, and I hope for the best.
And the requirements! "Your password must contain one uppercase letter, one number, one symbol, and the blood of a virgin."
So I finally make a password I think is secure. I type it in.
The computer says: "Password Strength: Weak."
(Looks offended)
Weak? Excuse me?
"Don't talk to me like that. I'm trying to get into my bank account, I don't need a critique on my creativity."
So I change it to something aggressive. Like "EatGlass99!"
"Password Strength: Strong."
See? The computer respects violence.
Then I hit "Log In."
And the screen says: "Incorrect Password."
So I click "Forgot Password."
And it asks me to prove I’m not a robot.
That is the most humbling moment of modern life. I am sitting in my underwear at 2 AM, trying to prove my sentience to a Dell laptop.
"Select all the images with a traffic light."
I’m panicking! Is that part of a traffic light? Or is it the whole pole? If I get this wrong, am I locked out of my email, or does the computer call the police and say, "We found a robot"?
I’m overthinking it. I click on a square.
"Please try again."
I failed the Turing Test! I am a robot! I have no soul! I just wanted to check my bank balance!
(Checks watch/time)
Anyway, my name is [Your Name], thanks for letting me vent. You've been a great audience! Goodnight
