The pizza robot
The future is yesterday. Last night, I ordered pizza from a robot.
I have a love/hate relationship with technology. When I was a kid, I grew up on reruns of “Star Trek” and “Lost in Space.” Robots ranged from silly to scary, but they were, most importantly, fictional. In “Star Wars,” C3PO and R2D2 were the comic relief, but everyone knew that they were dudes in costumes.
Last night, I had a close encounter of the robotic kind. It was weird.
I called a pizza joint to order two Sicilian pies and a cold, emotionless voice answered. The bot stated, “Save 15% by using the Pizza Robot.”
As I am always on the hunt for a good bargain, I thought, “What the heck. Let’s try it.”
A stilted, staccato voice took my order.
I said, “One large plain. One large with banana peppers.”
Just like a real, live human being, the robot got my order wrong.
The robot repeated, “That will be one large plain pizza and one large pizza with green peppers.”
I was afraid to yell the word “banana” into my phone. I didn’t want fruit toppings.
Side note: This is where I stand on the pineapple on pizza issue. I’m against it. I love pineapple, literally and figuratively, to the core, but the only fruit I want on my pizza is a tomato (preferably pulverized and blended into a sauce).
But I digress, like I do. I agreed to the green peppers, because I didn’t want to argue with a robot. When our AI overlords take over humanity, I want the Pizza Robot to remind them that I was compliant.
Pizza Robot was programmed for the upsell. It talked me into the garlic knots.
Why do pizza purveyors offer dough with more dough? I fell for it.
“Sure. Throw in some knots!”
Then, the Pizza Robot wanted me to add cinnamon rolls to my order. I drew the line. Gluten with gluten and more gluten for dessert seemed excessive. I became convinced that Pizza Robot was a corporate tool of Big Wheat, who had a stranglehold on the lesser-known grain commodities like barley, farro and sorghum.
After the order was complete, I told the robot I would pick up the pizza. In the event that the robot becomes self-aware and decides to enslave humanity, I didn’t see the need to give it my address.
I walked into the store and spoke to a real, live human boy. I said, “I’m here to pick up my order. Buzzelli?”
The human boy couldn’t find my order. I insisted, “I talked to the robot.”
When I said, “Michael,” the human boy at the counter smiled. Apparently, even an advanced artificial intelligence can’t spell my last name. If it doesn’t cut it with the pizza shop, the robot can get a job at Starbucks.
Someday, a robot will take your pizza order and a drone will fly it straight to your house. I suspect it will want a decent tip, too.