Larry Floersch
I just read a book that detailed how trees and other plants communicate underground through the tiny fibers of fungi called mycelium. It was fascinating information, but also worrisome. I mean, as if we didn’t already have enough to worry about with wars, national politics, inflation, Canadians, and Greenlanders, now we have to worry about interacting with trees. What if I were to in some way offend the little blue spruce planted next to our driveway? It might through this vast underground network send a “treemail” asking its neighbor the giant maple to drop a huge rotten limb on our car.
When I got to thinking about this, I realized we have an even more dangerous menace closer to home — as in our kitchens! I am, of course, talking about “smart” appliances.
I don’t think we realize how closely they are watching us.
It begins innocently enough. You buy a new refrigerator because the door handle on your old one broke and you found out it would cost almost as much to repair the old one as to buy a new one on Black Friday.
When the new refrigerator is delivered, the first thing you see is an invitation pasted on its door to register your new appliance and connect it to your smartphone via the web.
The primary reason to do this is so you will be inundated with a bazillion email reminders to purchase an extended warranty. The secondary reason is so you can monitor and control your refrigerator with your phone.
To my twentieth century mind, a refrigerator should just sit there and keep things cold. The only interaction I ever contemplate having with my refrigerator is opening the door and getting a cold beer. The thought of controlling my refrigerator with my phone never crossed my mind.
But being a typical nerdy guy, I could not resist. Two hours later, after downloading an app for my laptop and an app for my phone, creating accounts, waiting for emails with secret codes for second-level security, and did I mention occasionally using, shall we say, “rough” language, my new refrigerator was online.
I was now able to — and this is something I could never do in a million years with my old refrigerator — see on my phone that the temperature was 37 degrees F in the refrigerator compartment and 0 degrees F in the freezer compartment. I could also, if I so desired, turn the icemaker on and off.
I felt such a thrill of accomplishment I had to open its door and get a cold beer. The door worked so well I had another.
I then fell back into my twentieth-century habit of ignoring my refrigerator. This apparently offended the appliance, and after three months of being ignored, it stopped making ice.
“I got this!” I thought, after consulting the Troubleshooting section of the user’s manual. I used my smartphone to “reboot” the icemaker. Problem solved!
I went back to ignoring the appliance. An entire month went by without my once checking its temperatures on my phone. The resentment on its part continued to grow. The icemaker stopped working again.
This time the “reboot” did not work. Reinforcements were summoned.
The dealer’s repair technician informed me that the icemaker needed some parts, which he ordered using his smartphone. He said it would take three days. Neither of us realized the refrigerator was aware of all this activity and possibly secretly intervened.
A month went by. The dealer called to say they could not get the parts from the manufacturer, but the manufacturer had agreed to replace the refrigerator with the same model.
The second new refrigerator was delivered. However, I guess before it departed, the old new refrigerator informed the dishwasher over the network what an inconsiderate jerk I was. The dishwasher passed on that information to the new new refrigerator once I got it online. Three months after it arrived, the new new refrigerator stopped making ice.
The wall oven got wind of all this turmoil, and one night, in support of the refrigerator and while I was preparing dinner for some guests, it made a loud POP! and the lights went out, as in the whole house.
The repair technician could not find any logical reason for the oven’s behavior, but based on the fact it had turned on me, we concluded it was possibly hiding something, so neither of us wanted to throw the circuit breaker in the service panel to reactivate it. I made arrangements to replace the oven.
Now I have a new wall oven along with my new new refrigerator and everything seems to be working fine for the moment. But in the back of my mind I sense that my smart appliances continue to watch my every move and silently gripe about me amongst themselves. My fear now is that, because of the recent surge in the use of artificial intelligence, the trees in the yard and my appliances will soon merge their networks and the refrigerator will ask the maple to drop a huge rotten limb on our car. Can a visit from the Terminator be far behind?
