The Old Coot talks to his refrigerator

[By Merlin Lessler]

I talked to my refrigerator the other day; I hadn’t closed the door properly. It beeped, and I ran back, shut it, and said, “Thank you.” The refrigerator didn’t say anything. Not, “You’re welcome,” or “No problem.” Nothing! 

Later, it was the microwave. I hadn’t taken out my warmed-up cup of coffee. After a minute or so, it buzzed, reminding me. Again. And, then again. Finally, I took the cup out and said, “Thank you.” 

I’ve talked to my TV and radio for years. Sometimes I yell, but that’s only when a newscaster inserts their political opinion into the report. I yell at football players and golf pros on TV too when they fumble or miss a three-foot putt. But more and more, my appliances are talking to me. Even “Alexa” gets on my case, saying there is a package on the porch.

Our gas range invades our TV screen, announcing that the oven is up to temperature. Cars have gone even further, quietly making us obsolete by pulling us back into our lane to avoid a sideways crash or slowing us down when on cruise control to prevent a rear-end collision. Nice features, I guess, but little by little they are making us lazy and dependent. Eventually, they will move us to the passenger seat.  

I’m not sure where I’m headed with this diatribe, but I’d like to make a few modifications to the inanimate things that talk to and assist me. Like, the refrigerator should let me know when the Snickers bar shelf is almost empty or that the milk is about to turn sour. But, most of all, my supply of emergency pizza slices in the freezer compartment needs replenishing. 

Snickers and pizza, that’s all I need to survive an anxiety situation. I keep up with it myself at the moment, but I could use a little help. It won’t be long before the fridge gives me an inventory whenever I walk by. I can’t wait; it’s getting harder and harder to yank open today’s heavy refrigerator doors to do it myself.  

Comments? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com.