Robots

Robert the Robot appeared in my house in the late 1950’s – one of my brother’s Christmas gifts. While Robert had been introduced back in 1954, and as that was the year that my brother turned one, Rob’s arrival must have been in ’58 or ’59.

Robert was composed of hard plastic, most of it silver to make it look like metal. He was “the latest” with a tethered remote control, eyes that lit up and he could walk and talk.

“I’m Robert the robot the mechanical man. Guide me and steer me wherever you can.”

He could only speak one sentence. That was one more than most toys, than any toys that I remember.

We kids thought it wouldn’t be long before a similar robot, life size, would be available with more functionality. Maybe one of those would arrive on a future Christmas.

The next robot I saw was an office mail delivery robot. It was the mid-80s and I was working at a large insurance company in Portland, Maine. There was a metal track embedded in the carpet and the robot would circle the floor once or twice a day. It stopped at programmed locations and beeped to alert the assistant to retrieve the mail and add any that needed delivery. Mostly, this robot was ignored. It was such a simpleton, could only move forward on the track, pause, and beep. It moved so slowly, no one had to worry about being run over.

A few years ago, robots were introduced on the streets of Berkeley – food delivery robots called Kiwibots. As I work in the town, I’ve seen more than one. They look like a medium size cooler with wheels and some kind of electronics up front which I read is some kind of neuro system. The more they are out on the streets, the more they learn. Smarter by the day. They have a stiff wire that extends up about five feet with a triangle flag on top, some blue, some orange, like recumbent bikes, to draw attention to their existence.

I was surprised to see a bot at the corner of Center and Shattuck, one of the busiest intersections in Berkeley. Kiwi waited at the light with the rest of us and didn’t bump into a soul – unlike some of the humans. I laughed when I saw someone had stuck a couple of bumper stickers on the sides. An “only in Berkeley” moment. I’ve since learned that people are ordering drinks from Jamba Juice and tacos from Chipotle to be delivered via robot.

Twice in the past few weeks, I’ve seen an immobile robot from my bus seat. One was on Hearst, part way up a hill. I pondered whether it was confused or whether it lacked the power to make it any further. I watched as other passengers took note. I wondered how it made people feel. Like if you’re driving down the highway and see a car that’s broken down, you feel for the people, not for the car. But I wonder if seeing a disabled robot makes people feel for the people not getting their food or does it make them feel sorry for the robot? I hope it’s not sorry for the robot. That can’t lead to anything good.

 

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Ash Wednesday

I never know what surprise may await after I depart the BART train at El Cerrito del Norte which I pronounce del Nor-tay, rhymes with café , but I hear some conductors pronounce it del Nor-ty, rhymes with shortie. Many nights there’s a musician playing a saxophone and one evening there was a woman with a pleasant voice singing acapella and accepting donations. I gave her a twenty. That’s as generous as I get.

Recently, every night for a few weeks there were some Girl Scouts behind a table who shouted “Girl Scout cookies. Get your Girl Scout cookies. Five dollars a box.” I bought a couple of boxes of Do-si-dos, the peanut butter sandwich cookies as they were out of my favorites, Caramel de Lites.

One day there several adults standing behind a table, no children or Girl Scouts in sight. They were shouting “Girl Scout cookies. We accept credit cards.” I could swear they were also shouting “Six dollars.” Either way, I thought it was strange that there were no actual Girl Scouts present and there was no way I would offer them a credit card. I was glad to see no one else was either.

So Wednesday, as I went through the turnstile, it was a surprise to hear “Ash Wednesday. Free blessings,” and to see three women in clerical robes each holding a small dish, which turned out to be ashes. I waked right up and said “I’m ready,” and lowered my head and felt a finger on my forehead and her voice saying “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” and more, concluding with “Amen” and I said “Amen” and “Thank you,” then hustled to catch my bus.

As I sat on the bus I thought that the ashes to ashes phrase doesn’t sound like what I would call a blessing. A curse? Not that either. I guess it’s just a reminder we come from stardust and won’t walk this earth forever.

When I saw Mary Anne, she looked at me and said “Where did you get that?” meaning the smudge on my forehead and I told her about the women at the BART station. She said “I want some.” So we rubbed our foreheads together like they say Eskimos might do with their noses, and both had smudged foreheads for the evening.

I wanted to know more so I googled the phrase and it looks like it is not from the Bible but from the Book of Common Prayer and is based on some Bible verses. In the Book of Common Prayer, it’s included in the burial service. So it seems the original intention was as a blessing for the/of the dead. It’s not a bad thing to be reminded of our transitory nature on this planet. There’s a limited time that you will be able to enjoy Girl Scout cookies.

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