"Off to work in my self-driving car!" you announce—to absolutely nobody.
Nice fantasy, Captain Clueless. Let's get real: your "office" is literally fifteen steps from your bed, a commute so short your Apple watch has given up tracking it. And that job you're pretending to head to? AI snatched your ergonomic Herman Miller Aeron chair, 4 years ago while you were busy at home perfecting sourdough during Covid. Your digital replacement doesn't need motivational quotes, never has existential meltdowns mid-Zoom, doesn't show up hungover on Mondays, and, annoyingly, doesn't run up a bill for therapy sessions for coping with being replaced by AI.
"Fine, I'll get a robot for the house!" you say, still hoping your Schwab portfolio might rebound.
Good luck casually dropping anywhere from $50K to $150K— roughly the price of the college education you're still paying off at 42. —for something that might eventually understand your special brand of chaos. Maybe Elon will stop DOGEing around to produce some Tesla’s Optimus G2, or you could settle for the Unitree H1 (straight from China) or a Figure One (Open AI/Microsoft). Meanwhile, your bank account is practically invisible from the side, and you're seriously thinking about selling plasma to afford a brand-name ramen sold at Costco.
"Pivot to the gig economy?" Genius!
That fantasy land of "being your own boss," meaning you're answering a thousand bosses who couldn't care less about you and are “unhumaner” than an AI. Driving rideshare sounded doable—until three drunk girls turned your car’s back seat into a disaster area or that crypto guy bored you senseless for 45 minutes without tipping. After car payments, gas, maintenance, and therapy, you're basically paying to chauffeur strangers around town.
Then comes the Waymo robotaxis, silently cruising around town like smug electric ghosts. They're taking your job and doing it without flipping off other drivers or yelling obscenities at merging cars.
Welcome to the ridiculous merry-go-round of AI: eagerly building machines that put us out of work, then blowing our last paycheck on subscriptions to their services. It's less a tech revolution, more a cosmic joke—and we're both the setup and the punchline.
Nice fantasy, Captain Clueless. Let's get real: your "office" is literally fifteen steps from your bed, a commute so short your Apple watch has given up tracking it. And that job you're pretending to head to? AI snatched your ergonomic Herman Miller Aeron chair, 4 years ago while you were busy at home perfecting sourdough during Covid. Your digital replacement doesn't need motivational quotes, never has existential meltdowns mid-Zoom, doesn't show up hungover on Mondays, and, annoyingly, doesn't run up a bill for therapy sessions for coping with being replaced by AI.
"Fine, I'll get a robot for the house!" you say, still hoping your Schwab portfolio might rebound.
Good luck casually dropping anywhere from $50K to $150K— roughly the price of the college education you're still paying off at 42. —for something that might eventually understand your special brand of chaos. Maybe Elon will stop DOGEing around to produce some Tesla’s Optimus G2, or you could settle for the Unitree H1 (straight from China) or a Figure One (Open AI/Microsoft). Meanwhile, your bank account is practically invisible from the side, and you're seriously thinking about selling plasma to afford a brand-name ramen sold at Costco.
"Pivot to the gig economy?" Genius!
That fantasy land of "being your own boss," meaning you're answering a thousand bosses who couldn't care less about you and are “unhumaner” than an AI. Driving rideshare sounded doable—until three drunk girls turned your car’s back seat into a disaster area or that crypto guy bored you senseless for 45 minutes without tipping. After car payments, gas, maintenance, and therapy, you're basically paying to chauffeur strangers around town.
Then comes the Waymo robotaxis, silently cruising around town like smug electric ghosts. They're taking your job and doing it without flipping off other drivers or yelling obscenities at merging cars.
Welcome to the ridiculous merry-go-round of AI: eagerly building machines that put us out of work, then blowing our last paycheck on subscriptions to their services. It's less a tech revolution, more a cosmic joke—and we're both the setup and the punchline.