Ebenezer Scrooge Has Nothing On Me
I’ve had my first premonition.
It came to me in a dream, which went something like this.
A store in town debuted its new robotic motorized shopping cart. After a trip or two up the aisles, the robot cart lost its mind, went crazy and crashed through the front of the store.
Then it began terrorizing the town — going the wrong way down one-way streets, jumping curbs and causing havoc on busy sidewalks.
The police gave chase, but they were no match for the sharp turns of the mad buggy, as it threw sparks from its wheels and flung cans of food.
This went on until the buggy hit an obstacle which caused its parts to fly in all directions.
That’s where the story begins.
I dreamed this because I’m concerned about this robotic pizza delivery vehicle I’ve been seeing recently on TV ads for a couple of reasons.
It’s shaped like a little van, and it looks to be about the size of a golf cart.
When it gets to your house, you walk down to the road and a little door opens so you can get your pizza.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the way technology has changed pizza delivery. We don’t order pizza much, but when we do, I always order online.
The app shows a little picture of a cheese pizza, then when I click the toppings I want, they are magically added to the picture.
When I finish ordering I wait for the little blip on the map to start moving, meaning the driver is on his or her way toward my house.
And since the pandemic gave us the gift of contactless delivery, all I have to do is go out on my front porch and get the pizza off the bench — sight unseen.
Contrast this beautifully effortless experience to dealing with the robot minivan.
In the TV commercial, the guy is all smiles and looking spiffy as he walks to the street, opens the door and gets out his two mediums.
But I don’t think this is the way it would happen in real life.
I can see it now. Here it comes around the corner pulling a parade of 25 cars filled with people who want to make a selfie with it when it finally stops.
As that’s unfolding, the entire neighborhood is looking out their windows wondering what all the fuss is about.
The robot stops in front of my house amid a throng of curious onlookers.
Some of you will remember the gold truck episode of “The Andy Griffith Show.” I’m envisioning this a little like that.
Meanwhile, I have on no shoes, and my T-shirt might be a wee bit wrinkled.
Suddenly, we’ve gone from contactless delivery to me wondering what I should wear to greet the crowd.
Should I make a speech, or can I get away with one of those sweeping Air Force One waves when I get back to the porch?
It’s going to take me a while to warm up to the entire idea. But since I’ve eaten more crow than I have pizza in my day, I’ll never say never.
But I will say this, if you see one, and you stop to make a selfie with it, and it loses its mind and turns on you, you’ve been warned.